The Day the Hero Died, Again
by Maniae
Summary: Dean's year is up. Sam's lost without his brother but furious at Ruby for not keeping her promise. Ruby tells Sam that the only way to save Dean is to revisit the day the deal was made and reverse the outcome. But changing the past can have deadly results
1. Chapter 1

**Historian's Note:  
**This story takes place during the third season of "Supernatural".

**Author's Note:  
**Wow, first story posted and I am left with nothing to say. I've had writers block for several months now so this is a real breakthrough.  
Thanks for checking out this story and I do hope you will enjoy reading it just as much I have enjoyed writing it—more so I hope. I tend to get rather frustrated when I write because nothing ever seems good enough.  
I should be thanking Christopher Golden; his serial Buffverse novels "The Lost Slayer" were what inspired this story.

* * *

**THE DAY THE HERO DIED, AGAIN  
**Written by Maniae

_**Changing the past can have deadly consequences…**__  
_Dean's year is up. Sam's lost without his brother, although he is furious with Ruby for not being able to keep her promise. To get Sam to talk to her again, Ruby tells him that the only way to get Dean back will be to revisit the day the deal was made and undo the outcome. But changing the past can have catastrophic results, as Sam will soon begin to find out.

**CHAPTER 1**

Dean's one year was up.  
Sam sat cross-legged on the floor of the Motel room. The colt had been tossed aside, uselessly. The young man stared teary eyed at his older brother's lifeless body. Sam could not move, and he couldn't breathe. Every part of him wanted to throw up, and some part of him even wanted to take that gun and blow his own brains out. How could he carry on living without Dean? Sam felt consumed with guilt; he had not been able to keep his promise for Dean. Sam had not been able to save his only brother, and the only family he had left for that matter, from a deadly fate.

The young man had known this day was coming for the last year, but he had not fully accepted nor dealt with what would happen once they came to collect Dean's soul—until now.

Sam was furious with himself for not being able to stop the death. Dean had died a little over an hour ago, but he had died the way Sam thought he would have. No demon had come to collect his soul, but then again that could've had to do with the fact that Sam had shot that bitch at the crossroads, Dean had just dropped dead. Sam had figured that if demons would have come then at least he could have been able to fight them off with the colt. But now clearly that was not the case.

Dean had dropped to floor, but he had not died instantly. His older brother had suffered for at least twenty minutes before his heart had finally stopped beating. Sam had watched in horror as his brother had suffered. He remembered Dean begging him, at some stages, to shoot him. But Sam had not been able to waste his own brother, even if it would have prevented Dean from feeling the agony of dying slowly. Guilt and angst filled his insides, it entangled themselves around his intestines, and it left Sam with a heavy and nauseous feeling.

Sam slammed the floor with a heavy fist. "Damn it!" he cried. His temper had begun to rise, and it had slowly begun to override his sorrow. He was furious, furious with himself for not helping Dean. _To think the one thing I could have done to help him was to put the guy out of his misery, _Sam thought. _And I hadn't even been able to do that, let alone find a way to break the deal. _Sam felt helpless, lost, and more alone than he had even been before in his life. He had no one; no family, no friends. A demonic war was coming too, and now he would have to fight it on his own. _No, _Sam thought as a sudden thought occurred to him. _I still have someone left._

"RUBY," Sam shouted. The demon Ruby wasn't in the motel room. Sam wasn't even sure she was in the country, but he did know that the female demon had a habit of showing up vicariously out of nowhere. "Come on show your face, bitch!"

"Whoa." Sam heard a female voice say. He turned around and came face to face with an attractive young female with a thick mane of blonde hair: Ruby.

Ruby stood in the middle of the room. Her arms were crossed firmly against her chest, and her facial features were pulled into a scowling expression. She arched an eyebrow. "Now, with that kind of attitude I was expecting Dean," she said sarcastically. The female demon's face softened, clearly after she had realized it was Sam. "Where is he anyway? It's unnatural to see you without him. You're like the Bonnie to his Clyde."

Sam did not return the same friendly smile that Ruby had. Instead Sam continued to look grim and furious. He pointed towards Dean's motionless body. He would rather skip the "hellos" and get straight to the point. Ruby was not his friend, nor would she ever be. "I don't think my brother is the talking mood."

Ruby's eyes followed Sam's index finger. When she found Dean's body, lying in a pool of his own blood, she had dropped her grin and Sam hoped her cocky attitude along with it. "Oh, I see," she said. She tore her eyes away from Dean's corpse to Sam who was gapping at her.

"Oh I see?" Sam repeated, angrily. The young man had stood up. He faced Ruby, and just like her, his arms were crossed. "That's all you have to say?"

Ruby glared at him. "What else do you want me to say?" she demanded. "I'm sorry? I'm not. Honestly, were you expecting your brother to just die peacefully and painlessly in his sleep?"

"I was expecting you to feel more sympathy than your showing," Sam answered through clenched teeth.

"What? You really thought I'd come all the way out here just to hug, and then lend you my sympathetic ear? I'm not made that way Sam."

"Clearly," Sam scoffed. He tried not to look towards Dean's body; it would only make him soften. Instead he continued to stare angrily at Ruby. The intense fury in the pit of his stomach allowed the grief over Dean's sudden death to be placed aside. At that moment Sam would have rather felt any emotion than misery. "So you're telling me that your kind isn't able to feel compassion, or any other emotion for that matter?"

"That's the general gist of it," Ruby retorted. "We're emotionless creatures with no substance. I would have thought that after all your years of hunting demons you would have at least been aware of that by now." "I don't feel compassion toward your brother's death because it was his fault it happened. No one put a gun to his skull and forced him to play 'let's make a deal'. He was well aware of what he was doing, and he knew of the consequences."

"You promised Ruby," Sam said. His voice had not been full of anger, like it had been only minutes before, but instead it had held hints of desperation. He wanted Ruby's help. Correction, he needed her help.

Ruby's expression softened. Her gaze had shifted to the floor. She too seemed to be attempting to avoid Dean's body; perhaps the reason behind this being guilt or sadness. Ruby had always been a difficult person to read, but maybe that was because she wasn't exactly a person. She was demon, but she was still the most decent demon Sam had ever met—even if she did have her moments where Sam just wanted nothing more than to waste her.

"I'm sorry Sam," Ruby said. "But I cannot help your brother. I only promised you that so you would talk to me, and we've been through this all before. There is no way to break an unbreakable demonic contract. I'm living proof of that."

Sam eyed her for a few minutes. He wasn't mad at her, not really. It would be easy to pin the whole thing on her, but truth was it wasn't her fault. She had only been trying to help. She had restored the colt for them. So far Ruby seemed fairly decent…for a demon. Still Sam had no idea what her true intentions were, because she was still a demon after all and she had lied to him about helping Dean just so that she could get her own way. _But that's what demons are, _Sam thought. _They're all the same: they're all selfish. _  
"Is there anything we can do? I don't care if it's just getting his soul to move on. I would sleep better at night knowing my brother's humanity isn't being burned to ashes in hell."

Ruby arched an eyebrow. "Rather selfish of you to say that, don't ya think?" she said, candidly. "I mean here you are trying to blind-sight me into thinking that it's Dean you're trying to help."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam insisted. His sweaty hand gripped tightly around the colt. He eyed the female demon angrily.

Ruby sighed. "It doesn't matter Sam. Dean's soul is going to rot for eternity in hell for the deal he made. Who knows maybe he'll be one of those lucky few that manage to escape the fiery pit that is hell. But he'll be different; he won't remember who you are or who he is. He'll become the thing that he used to…"

"SHUT UP!" Sam shouted. His voice had risen and so had his temper. "Don't say that about Dean, not you. He'll never become a demon, because he won't be in hell long enough. There has to be a way. I don't give a damn how. There has to be a way to save my big brother."

Ruby stared at him for several moments. She didn't say anything aloud but it appeared to Sam that she was deep in her own thoughts. She kept her arms crossed, and despite Sam holding the colt in his hand, she had not backed away.  
"There _is _something that can is done, but I'm not going to suggest it."

"Why the hell not?" Sam demanded. "If there's a way Dean can be saved then I want in on it."

"It's suicide Sam. Well not literally, but it may as well be."

"I don't care," Sam replied, bluntly. He glanced towards Dean's corpse. His brother looked peacefully, despite the way he had died. If it wasn't for the puddle of blood he was lying in Sam would have merely assumed that the guy was sleeping. Part of Sam thought that Dean would just suddenly spring awake. He imagined that his brother would one of his usual some smart ass comments, and then later he would make fun of Sam for worrying so much. But Dean didn't wake up, because he wasn't sleeping. A tear escaped from one of Sam's eyes. It trickled down his cheek, and then finally stained his skin. He had to help his brother, just like Dean had done for Sam when he had died a year previously. _Well not the deal part. _  
Sam finally took his attention away from hid brother corpse. He turned to Ruby once again. The young man's facial expression morphed from saddened to grave. "I don't care if it's suicide. The way I see it: I would rather die knowing that I tried to help rather than wasting away up here knowing that I could have done something."

Ruby looked defeated, or perhaps she was growing bored of arguing. Either way she had tossed in her white flag. "Fine, but I'm telling you if you die, or one of your other precious loved ones die, don't even try to blame it on me again. Not only will I tell you 'I told you so' but the black eyes will come out and so will everything else that comes along with it."

Sam sighed. He tried not to appear as depressed as he felt. "I have no loved ones left."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Sam could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he kept his hands on the steering wheel of the Impala. It felt weird to him; not having his brother driving, or not having him around at all for that matter. It had not been that long since Dean's death but Sam could already feel the missing presence of his brother. Particularly when seated in the Impala. It was usually Dean who had always been in the driver's seat and Sam had usually been seated in the passenger's seat; watching the scenery or checking through cell to see if there were any messages left for him. That was the way it had always been, but now it was different.

Everything felt strange, and nothing felt normal.

Ruby sat beside him. She had not spoken a single word. Instead all she kept doing was pointing in different directions here and there; telling him where to turn, and telling him when to stop. Sam always frowned when she did this. He hated taking orders from someone. It wasn't Ruby in particular, but having her bossing him around reminded Sam of the way his father would bark orders at him. The only thing that restrained Sam from hitting her was Dean. Of course, Ruby had been shy on the plan details. Sam had no clue where they were headed to. He had asked her, countless times, but she never replied. Or if she did she would answer with "so many questions, so little time to save your brother". When she had first said this Sam had had to restrain himself from throwing a fist in her face. He had had the feeling that Ruby had noticed this because she had grinned broadly.

Ruby did not glance at him. The female demon kept her eyes ahead; staring out at the darkened road. She had tossed her hair to one side and had begun to slowly weave her fingers through the thick blonde strands.

"I don't see why we couldn't have done something with the body," Sam said. He had broken the chilling silence that had hung in the air for the last hour. "The thought of leaving him back there makes me uncomfortable."

"And what would you have done with it?" Ruby asked, ironically. "If you would have buried or burned the corpse I'm sure someone would have noticed."

Sam felt a tear rush down his cheek. He hoped that Ruby had not noticed him crying. "I know," he sadly answered. "I just—I feel like I've abandoned him."

Ruby opened her mouth to say something but then briskly closed it again. Sam knew that she had wanted to say something, but had obviously decided better than. _Probably another smart ass remark, _Sam thought mockingly. At that moment Ruby shot him a displeased expression. Sam wondered if she could read minds, but he doubted it. He would have known by now if she could. But then again, there were still so many things about Ruby that he did not know. The only information he had gathered from her was that she had once been human, though after spending decades in hell she had become this less than human thing: a demon. Ruby was a mystery, and that was what made her most dangerous.

"Turn right," Ruby said, pointing in the right direction.

Sam scowled. He despised taking orders from a demon. It wouldn't have been so bad if she would have at least told him where they were headed to.  
"So where are going?" Sam asked her.

Out of the corner of his eye Sam could see Ruby's lips curve into a smile. "I've told you Sam," Ruby replied. She grinned broadly. "It's a secret."

Sam scowled. _I've had it with her, _he thought bitterly to himself. "No, that's not good enough," he snapped. He tore his eyes away from the road, and then shot her a fuming stare. "You tell me where we're headed back to the motel room."

"Fine," Ruby said bluntly. "That is just fine with me, because if I'm not mistaken I told you this plan wasn't the best. But it's the only plan you have. If you want to save your brother I think you'll stick around."

Sam frowned. "Don't be so sure of yourself, Ruby." "If I have to turn back I will take out the colt and shoot you between the eyes."

Ruby opened her mouth to argue, but again, quickly closed it again. She folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes focused sternly and heatedly on him. "Alright, I'll tell you. I'm not just telling you because you threatened to kill me with the gun I helped fix for you."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Because you asked so politely," she scoffed. "I'm taking you to see an old friend of mine. But does this friend bother to write or call? No, but he's a sorcerer. I believe he can help you, and your brother."

Sam gave Ruby a nod in appreciation. "That's all it took to get you to answer that question: me threatening you?" he sarcastically asked. He wasn't expecting her to answer his question, not with words anyway. "So where does this 'old friend' live? And how exactly can he help Dean?"

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me; time travel!?" Sam asked. He slammed the door of the Impala shut. Usually he would have checking to see if there was dint in the car after doing this, but tonight he didn't. Dean wasn't around to get angry at him. Sam closed his eyes, sadly. He could have chocked himself for thinking that. Dean was going to be alright. If this 'friend' of Ruby's really could help him than Dean might just be around to smack Sam in the back of the head for slamming the car door.

"I believe they were not exactly my choice of words, Sam." Just like Sam had done, Ruby slammed the car door shut. She pulled her jacket in closer to her chest. Sam wondered if demons could actually feel the cold. He could only guess that it had been for comfort rather than weather. From the moment he had pulled the car up to the driveway of this tiny, rundown, could-collapse-at-any-given-moment, cottage, Ruby had seemed on edge. Perhaps she and this 'old friend' had had some kind of falling out in the past.

Sam had decided to ignore her comment, and her clear discomfort. He wanted to avoid any more arguments with her. It was getting late, and Sam didn't want Dean's spirit to have to stay in hell for any longer. The thought of Dean in hell saddened him, and yet slightly amused him. He had to wonder at what kind of smart-ass-remarks Dean would say to bunch of demons. But could he think of anything new? As far as Sam knew Dean had been through every smart-aleck retort in the book. Sam closed his eyes, and then shook his head. He didn't want to think of Dean. He did not want to be reminded of where he was. In fact he didn't want to be reminded of him at all; it all made things harder.

Sam and Ruby made their way up to the front door of the broken looking house. Sam crinkled his nose. There was a putrid stench that hung in the air, and it made him feel sick. Ruby had clearly had not taken any notice to the smell, because she had not prevented herself from vomiting by covering her nose and mouth with her hand. "So this is the place where your recommended sorcerer lives?" Sam asked. His hand was still cupped over his mouth. He could not get over the state the house was in. It looked like a dump, and it smelt like one too.  
Ruby grinned, but she didn't answer him. Sam hadn't really expected her too. He had more so been thinking aloud.

Sam moved his hand away from his mouth, and then used to fist to wrap on the door. While waiting for someone to respond, the young man examined the door. The wood was moldy, worn, and appeared as if it had been hand built. Odd bits of rusted nail stuck out at different angles, and the once brass door handle was covered in some kind of substance Sam could only know from smelling: sulfur. That was where the intense rotting-egg-like-smell had been coming from. His eyes trailed toward the ground. Through the tiny crack at the bottom of the door he could see a line of salt. "Clearly this 'old friend' of yours isn't a big fan of demons," Sam said.

"Not to keep out _all _demons, just me." Ruby's expression was emotionless. She was no longer grinning, instead she looked stern. "We've had a few bitter rows, here and there, over the course of a decade."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Great!" he scoffed. "You send me to get help from a guy that despises…"

Sam had not been able to finish his sentence. The young man's heart skipped a beat when the front door suddenly swung open. Sam had had to jump back so that he wouldn't have been hit. He looked closely at the man standing in the doorway. The man looked human—well he had no black eyes as far as Sam could tell. He was short, but that was only compared to Sam who was rather tall. He reminded Sam of Santa, if he were even real, expect if the jolly fat man had gained a few extra kilos, lost most of his beard, and had taken up a habit of drinking whisky and not taking a shower in years. The man grinned broadly, though there was nothing friendly about this smile. When his deep blue eyes found Ruby he snarled.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here Ruby?" the man asked angrily. He glared at her fiercely. Judging from the bitter and intense expression on the man's face whatever argument these two had had years ago had been bad. "I thought I sent your skinny ass packing, straight back to hell."

Ruby's eyebrow rose. She kept her arms folded. "And I never got to thank you for that either," she retorted coolly. "I can't tell you that it was your typical lying in the sun and taking on a stroll on the beach vacation either. I got from the hell when the gate was opened. I saw the opportunity and figured I'd take it. It was one hell of a fight, though, I can tell you that."

The man eyed her suspiciously. After a few seconds, however, he turned his scowl into a beam. He tore his eyes away from Ruby to look at Sam. "We've never met have we?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. He wasn't sure what to do exactly. This man was making him feel nervous. Perhaps it was the way the man would stare darkly into the distance, even though there was nothing there, or the way he would roll his eyes, even though nothing had been said. He was strange, but as far as Sam could tell, he didn't appear dangerous. _Never judge a book by its cover, _Sam reminded himself. He thought of Meg, the demon, and how he had underestimated her due to her petite frame and delicate features.

"Sam this is Frank. Frank this is Sam Winchester," Ruby informed the two men.

Frank's eyes had lit up when Ruby had mentioned Sam's last name. "Winchester?" he said, still beaming. "I had the pleasure of meeting your father once. Of course can't say it was much of a pleasure for me. Your old man shot me in leg with a .45. He had a nice shot on him though."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He didn't look into Frank's eyes when he responded. "My father had a habit of threatening to shoot people. He only usually cocked the shotgun though, he never actually fired it. I'm not like him," he briskly added. Sam did not fancy making any more enemies over what his father may or may not have done to people when he had been alive.

"Too bad," Frank said. He actually seemed disappointed by what Sam had said. "I liked John." "So what brings you here?" he asked, once again turning to look at Ruby.

Sam tried to get comfortable. He was seated on a mouth-eaten sofa that seemed to be collapsing under his weight. He took the mug of steaming tea that Frank had offered him. He touched the edge of the mug to his lips, but he did not drink it. He was still unsure whether he fully trusted Frank. The man seemed likable, but he had confessed already that he had a habit of associating himself with demons on occasion.

Frank sat down on the armchair facing the sofa Ruby and Sam were sat on. His facial expression had become a mix of concern and seriousness. "What you're asking me to do is very dangerous, not to mention tricky," he said gravely. "I'm not saying that it can't be done—not by me anyway. There are consequences for time travel; one little mistake can alter the reality we live in."

Sam looked briskly at Ruby. He had been thinking along the same lines as Frank. Each movie he had seen that involved time travel had ended badly. After the main actor had traveled to the past they had always screwed up in some way or other, and then when they returned to the present the whole world had ended just because they had stepped on a plant, or something. Sam knew of the consequences, and he knew how important it was to take this seriously. But at that moment all Sam could think about was saving Dean. He figured "screw the consequences" because he wanted his brother back, and if this was the only way it could be done than so be it.

"We know the risks," Sam informed Frank. "I've seen enough of them crappy time-traveling films to get the general gist of things."

"Time travel in real life is nothing like in the movies," Frank said. "It's more complex. Getting there ain't the problem, but getting back can be tricky."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. He was beginning to feel knots forming in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps this wasn't such a bright idea after all.

"It's hard to explain. But when you travel back in time your body doesn't travel with you. It's rather like astral projection; your soul with travel through time and inhabit the body of your past self."

"Sort of like how demons possess people?" Sam asked. When Frank nodded Sam began to feel really uneasy. When the demon Meg had possessed him a year ago it had been the most uncomfortable and sickening experience of his life. Just the thought of having to go through that again caused him to feel queasy.

"The only difference is you will inhabit your own body, sharing your own soul. It shouldn't be as unpleasant, but I can't give you any guarantees. Once your there you'll get a certain amount of time: usually I can promise you twenty-four hours, maybe less. If you run out of time before then getting back to the present time will not only seem difficult but will be near impossible."

Sam gulped; he defiantly didn't like the sound of this. He glanced at Ruby. "Will she be coming with me?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not." Frank shook his head. "Demons don't have a soul."

Despite the angst and nervousness he was feeling about it all he was still going to go through with the plan. From the sounds of things Sam had experienced more dangerous and difficult jobs. All he had to do was make sure he prevented Dean from dying, or making deals with any demons, and kept in the time limit of twenty –four hours then he would be fine. He didn't like the idea of leaving his body. All he had to do was keep reminding himself that he was doing this for Dean. "How long will it take you to set up?" he asked Frank.

Frank grinned. "Give me five minutes, after that your own kid."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you; to those who have reviewed, added this story to their favorites, or even read it. I appreciate your comments, and it is what keeps me writing, (and out of writer's block.)

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

He wanted nothing more than to throw up.  
Sam stared down at the seven lit candles that were lined up before him. The flames looked exquisite in the sinister light; they flickered in the wind. He felt a shiver crawl up his spine. He felt nervous, perhaps even more so than before. Once his eyes had noticed the candles, the altar, the offerings, and the old book full of occult rituals and sacrifices, Sam had felt anxious. The last time he had encountered the black arts had almost been his last. Staring at the candles reminded him of the three witches he had faced, along with Dean. The witches had been easy to defeat, mainly because they had been wasted by a demon, but the demon itself had not been. Sam wrapped his arms around his torso. He had a bad feeling about this, and a very bad feeling it was.

Sam had encountered many dangerous and deadly things in his life, but this one scared him the most. There were so many things that could go wrong. He shuddered to think what would happen something _did _go wrong. What if he ran out of time? Sam hardly favored the prospect of what might happen if he ran out of time. He closed his eyes, took in several deep breaths, and then opened them again. He could not dwell on the negative; he had focus on saving Dean.

"So this is defiantly going to work?" Sam asked. That was at least the fifth time he had asked that evening. He was sure that he had seen Frank's eyes roll, but Sam had only asked because he wanted to be one hundred percent reassured.

"I'm sure," Frank replied back. But there had been a quiver in the old man's voice; something that Sam had been quick to notice. "I've been this a dozen times before. At least in your case you ain't requesting to travel back to the fifteenth century. God knows why anyone would want to go back there."

"Frank?"

"Hmm" Frank replied; as if to indicate that he was listening.

"How much of the past can I change?" Sam asked. That had been a question the young man had been repeating over and over again in his mind. It wasn't that he wanted to change too much, but there was more than one bad thing that had occurred that night. Perhaps changing that wouldn't be so bad.

"I wouldn't even think about it Sam?" Ruby snapped. Sam almost jumped. He had completely forgotten that Ruby was in the same room. He turned to look at her, but then briskly looked away again. Ruby had been glaring at him. Perhaps she knew what he had been thinking.

"I wasn't thinking about anything," Sam lied. Clearly Ruby had seen right through his fib because she shook her head in disappointment and annoyance. Thankfully, though, she didn't seem to press the matter any further. This had left Sam relieved. The last thing he wanted was to get into another hostile row with Ruby, especially when he was already feeling enough fear over time traveling. He did not need one pissed off demon to add to his already long list of complications.

"It's ready," Frank announced.

Sam screwed up his face in disgust when he noticed the old man slice a deep gash in his own wrist. Frank held his wrist over a small basin. He allowed the blood to steadily drop into the bottom of the bowl. Once he seemed satisfied, Frank motioned for Sam to come over. Sam hesitated, however, because he still wasn't quite sure if he could trust Frank. The old man was helping him, sure, but Sam had been fooled one too many times in his life.  
After several seconds of hesitation, Sam decided to join Frank on the floor of the cramped living room. He kneeled down, allowing his knees to press against the cold and blood speckled altar. Sam looked from the Ruby, the strangely obscure living room, and then to the brass dagger that Frank held in his hands.

"You don't need my blood, do you?" Sam asked.

Frank shook his head. "I just need your hands. Take mine." The old man reached foreword. He held his two arms out, hands ready for Sam to take. Sam carefully let his hands press themselves against the old man's palms. He knew that this sight must have appeared a bit stupid from someone who had the chance to view. But when he quickly glanced at Ruby he had not noticed a sneer plastered on her features. Sam turned his attention back to Frank. The young man had been told that he needed to concentrate in order to make the spell work. Sam closed his eyes. He listened to Frank's brisk chanting. The language of the spell was not in English. Sam wondered what language it was. Before he had the chance to even think his head started spinning.

Sam kept his eyes firmly shut. He had been advised not to open them. Although he could only see darkness, Sam was certain that the room was spinning. Flashes of images appeared in his head. But the pictures went by so quickly he had not had the opportunity to make out what they were. His best guess was that they were memories, because some of the blurred images seemed familiar. Sam squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He was fearful that if he were to open them they might pop out of the sockets. The room seemed to be spinning so fast. He wanted to throw up. Sam opened his mouth; he was ready to vomit. But before anything could escape from his mouth, Sam fell to the floor. He felt a slight tingling sensation in the palms of his hands; rather like pins and needles. Then his body felt rigid; he could not move a muscle. And then he felt nothing.

_Torn away.  
Sam hurtled backward. It did not feel as if an invisible being had thrust him backwards, but if felt like a tugging feeling. He was being dragged, hauled painfully and suddenly into a darkened abyss. He felt light. There was no more sensation in the tips of his fingers or toes. He could not move his body, nor could he feel it. He was nothing but a soul that had been forced stripped from its own body. It didn't feel right. All the weight of the flesh and bone made up body had been left behind. If he had no body than what was he? Was he a spirit; a ghost of some kind? Or was he just an essence that had simply been forced from its shell. He could still think, yet he could not speak. He could still see, and yet he could not blink. He was still alive, yet he did not have a pulse. _

_Sam had begun to float. He could feel the weight of the water pressing onto his skin. But then he did not possess any flesh. He was swimming, swimming in a pool which contents were made up of a thick, dark, crimson liquid; blood. He gazed into the liquid, despite the sickening thoughts of what it was. In the blood he could see images, and this time they were clear. They floated in the pool with him, along side him. The images played out like a movie, yet with no pause or stop option available. The images of his brother caused Sam to cry. But he wasn't crying, because not a single tear had stained his cheek. He wanted to cry, he wanted it more than anything else. He wanted to let out his emotions, but he wasn't sure that he had any anyone. He was nothing. _

_The pool blood quickly disappeared. If he had a pulse his heart was sure to have been beating fast at this point. The sensation of someone pulling him had returned. His head had begun to burn. _

_Then, suddenly, just when he had started to believe that the void was endless, the abyss was not eternal. Somewhere, ahead of the dark tunnel he had begun to slide down, there was a light. He hurtled towards it. He did not have much of a choice in the matter. He closed his eyes, squeezed them tight. He knew that he was headed for a collision. At any moment he would find out what awaited him on the other side of the bright barrier. He was almost there, seconds away from reaching to the other side. And then…_

_Collision._

Fresh blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.  
Shocked, disoriented, Sam slowly began to open his eyes. His vision was blurry, but it was better than the darkness he had only seen before. He lay face down on the warm and firm ground. Instinctively he tried to stand, but every time he tried to move his body would protest in agony. He moaned. He waited for the pain to pass, but it was far too intense. He was forced to cringe once more by the searing pain that tainted his body. Sam tried to focus. This time instead of trying to stand he tried to get a clear image of the scenery that surrounded him. From what Sam could see, which was little, he was lying on dirt; hot dirt that felt like it had been baking in the sun for years. He tried to see more, but due to the position he was in it made it impossible.

Sam eyes widened in shock, and his body seared with more pain. He felt something sharp prod the skin on his back. He moaned once in pain. Someone was there with him, kneeling over his limp body. He could feel their breath on the back of his neck. He could hear their breathing into his ear. A pair of worn army-style boots stepped into view. Someone was defiantly there. And then Sam heard them speak.

"Hey he's still alive!" Sam heard the man shout.

Sam's senses became fully alert. _I recognize that voice, _he thought to himself. There was no mistaking that deep masculine voice that seemed to possess a whisper of madness and fear. _It's Jake. _


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Startled, Sam lifted himself into an upright seating position. He had felt the muscles in his body twitch and sear, and he had heard the sound of bones crack. Sam did nothing more than wince. The pain was bearable. He had been through worse. His eyes watered and burned. Instinctively he wanted to rub them, but he knew that that would only irritate them more. Sam looked up. It was dark. He could hear the sound of rain, but yet no water touched his skin. Moonlight shun down on the old-western salon-type houses. They were rusted, falling apart. To him they appeared depressing and ghastly, and even the moonlight didn't help. The whole town had a haunted glow about it, and that was most likely because—supposedly—it was. Sam remembered where he was; Coldoak, South Dakota. The spell had brought him back to the ghost town the yellow-eyed demon had taken him. This was the place he had been killed. But he wasn't about to be killed, not yet. He was fairly certain that he had a few hours until then. Sam hoped, anyway. His body felt fragile and brittle. He was in no condition to fight Jake. _Jake, _Sam thought. His attention snapped back to the voice he had just heard.

"Jake," Sam said. His voice had sounded hoarse and weak. He could see Jake. The solder watched Sam; nothing but concern crossed his features.

"Thank god," Jake said. He beamed at Sam. "I thought you were dead. You had us all freaked to hell, man."

"Us all?" Sam repeated. He looked around, noticing for the first time that Ava and Andy stood near him. They too looked worried. "Oh, now I remember." But Sam didn't remember. He remembered where he was, what he was doing here, yet he couldn't remember this scene ever taking place. But perhaps that was what happened when you time traveled. Perhaps his past self had passed out in the middle of the dirt road. _Yes, _Sam thought. _That makes more sense. _

"What happened?" Sam asked. He winced once again; this time because of the prickling pain on the back of his skull. Sam attempted not to look at Ava. He remembered all too well what she had done to Lily, Andy, and what she had been going to do to him. He didn't trust her anymore. Sam glanced around for Lily; the willowy blonde that caused people's hearts to stop when she touched their skin. He couldn't see her. Sam knew that whatever moment he had been sent back to had been post-Lily's death. It saddened Sam that she was dead, and that the only memory he had of her was her lifeless body swinging from a windmill. He despised Ava for killing her, and he felt guilty himself for not being able to save her—or Andy. But he wouldn't have been able to anyway. No matter how much Sam wanted to save everyone, he just couldn't. He had to allow things to play out in the exact same way they had done. Frank and Ruby had both been strict about that rule. Sam was already changing too much of the past, by saving Dean and himself, he couldn't risk changing anything else.

"You just suddenly fell." It was Ava that had answered. Sam glanced briskly towards her. The young brunette had tears in her eyes. _Well isn't she just the world's greatest actor, _Sam thought bitterly. But it was true. He looked at her closely. It was hard to tell, looking from her heart shaped face to her youthful and innocent features, that she was already evil at this point. Was she already going through in her head the best strategy for killing them all? Sam felt repulsed by her.

"You're bleeding." Ava pointed at the blood on Sam's mouth.

"It's not too bad," Sam reassured her. He used his jacket sleeve to wipe the drying blood away. "I probably just grazed it when I fell. How did I fall?"

"Beats me." Jake shrugged. "I was in the middle of taking down the corpse when Andy came rushing over to me."

Sam glanced over at Andy, who had remained quite up until now. Sam gave Andy a friendly smile. For months Andy's face had been haunting him, but not the face the young man wore now. The last time Sam had seen Andy had been after a demon had clawed him up. Sam fought back the nightmarish and bloody sight that kept recurring in his memories. He didn't want to remember Andy that way. He had been the only physic, that Sam had met, that had still been decent. Sam felt glad to see him again. At least this way he could remember the young man from what he had been rather than what he had looked like after his entire body had horrifically scratched up.

"We went looking for something to use as a weapon; salt and the other stuff you told us to look for," Andy explained. His face looked pale, washed out, and he looked nothing short of scared. "You just suddenly fell. For a moment I thought you were having a fit. You started to twitch, and then your body just went completely still. I thought you were dead. But I-I panicked, I-I didn't k-know what to do."

"That's okay, Andy, really," Sam reassured. He knew very well that he hadn't been having a fit. His past self must have collapsed when the time traveling of his present-self had taken place. It made sense to him now. The part that he had a hard time understanding was that there were supposedly two souls within his body. He didn't feel any different, and much to his relief it didn't feel anything like the time a demon had possessed him. He supposed to be because in a way the two souls were one, except his present-self possessed more memories and seemed to less trustworthy and panicked than his past-self was. The situation did not feel uncomfortable, but his present-self would be glad once it got back to its rightful time. _I have to save Dean first, _Sam reminded himself. He had gone through the plan in his head at least several times already. Of course the only difficulty was he hadn't realized that he would have been sent _this _far back into the past. Sam's original plan had been to save himself from Jake, and then hopefully if he wasn't dead then that would prevent Dean from ever making that damned deal. Sam could still go through with the original plan, but the only the draw back was not only would be have to wait another couple of hours but he would also have to go through the pain of watching Ava and Andy die. He had hoped that he would have missed that, because no matter how much Sam wanted to he couldn't stop Andy's death. It annoyed him, pissed him greatly, but he couldn't interfere with too much. Sam was already changing a few things of the past. Those few things, were a few things too many.

"Are you okay?" Ava asked. Her eyes light blue eyes were wide and teary. She looked worried. But Sam knew that it was all an act.

"Yeah, Ava I'm fine," Sam answered. He had struggled to keep his tone of voice free of the resent he felt for her. "Did you end up finding salt?" Sam asked. Andy nodded in response. "Excellent. We'll settle in, make ourselves comfortable…"

"And then what?" Jake cut across.

Sam frowned. It annoyed him greatly when people interrupted him. But he decided not to say anything; he didn't want to start any fights—yet. "And then; we'll see what happens from then on."

_Later that night…_

Sam stared down at Andy's motionless body. A tear fell down his cheek, the eventually stained his skin. Andy was, and so was Ava. Sam wanted to look away from the bloody and depressing sight. But he couldn't; just like he hadn't been able to save Andy. When Jake had awoken Sam, from a nightmare that featured the yellow-eyed-demon as the guest star, with news that Ava was missing Sam had known immediately that she hadn't really been missing. The young woman had been hiding, she had heard their calling her, but she hadn't cared. When Andy had walked into the cramped dining room of one of the houses she had been waiting for him. Sam wasn't clear on what had happened during that time; all he knew was that she had called a demon to kill Andy. The demon had killed Andy, clawed him, tortured him, and Ava had just sat back and watched with joy. Sam had waited outside of the house. He felt so guilty standing outside while knowing exactly what kind of agony Andy had been going through. Sam had heard his screaming, and his calling for help. But he had done anything to help him, and for that Sam could never forgive himself. It was even worse than the first time it had happened because this time Sam knew that, if he had been willing to, he could have saved Andy.

Sam knelt beside Andy's bloody corpse. He stared teary eyed into the glass-like eyes of the lifeless young man. "I'm sorry," Sam whispered into Andy's ear. He stood up, wiped the blood from his hands onto his jeans, and then turned to look at Jake. Jake leaned against the shabby wallpaper. He had his arms crossed firmly against his chest, and he wore solemn expression.

Jake didn't even give a second glance to Andy or Ava, before he turned to walk out of the front door. Sam didn't follow suit. He hesitated, because he knew that once he was to walk outside that door Jake would try and kill him. Sam checked his back pocket of jeans—where he had hidden a rusted knife, which he had found in a chest, earlier on. He didn't retrieve the knife, not yet; otherwise it would appear far too suspicious. Besides that; the first time Sam had lived this scene he hadn't taken the knife out until after Jake had thrown the first swing. Sam was planning on fighting better than he had then, he didn't wish to die for a second time.

Sam pushed open the damaged screen door. The cool night air brushed against his skin, causing Goosebumps to trail up and down his arms and legs. He closed his eyes, took in several deep breaths of air, and then by the time his eyes snapped open again he was greeted with a colourless and grim-faced Jake. The solder stood with his feet apart, and her arms still crossed. He glared at Sam; instead of the kindness that had once been, mistrust filled his gaze.

"What's the matter?" Sam asked, though he was fairly certain that he knew what was on Jake's mind. Jake felt distrustful of Sam, just like Sam felt the same way about Jake. Sam stood before Jake. The scene reminded him of those old western films were the hero and the villain would stand on opposite sides of each other, both waiting for the other to draw. Sam waited for Jake to make the first move.

"Is that damned demon dead?" Jake asked.

Sam nodded. "Should be, Ava was controlling it. We should be able to get out of here alive."

"No," Jake disagreed. He shook his head in disagreement. "Only one of us is getting out of here alive. Now I like you man, I do, but the yellow-eyed-demon he came to me and told what's what…"

"You can't trust a word it says," Sam snapped. He felt nothing but annoyance for the naïve solder.

"I can kill this thing," Jake said.

"Come with me, and we'll kill it together," Sam suggested. This whole conversation felt like serious Déjèvu; probably because his present-self had already lived this before. Sam felt annoyed, bored, and he desperately waited this all to be over with. Sam had not a doubt in his mind that would stay alive this time, mainly because his present-self would not allow his past-self to make the same mistakes that it had once made. He could not allow things to turn out the way they had. Sam had been given an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to undo his wrongs, and he didn't want to waste it.

"How do I know you won't turn on me?"

"I won't," Sam replied.

"I don't know that."

_Major Déjèvu happing here, _Sam thought.This was the same conversation all over again. _Well what did you expect? _A voice in his head asked. That moment was the first time Sam had been able to sense that there truly were two souls within one body. Sam's past-self—the one that belonged in this time—felt nothing but sympathy for Jake. His past soul wanted to make things right, and it didn't want to start a fight. But Sam's present-self could not have been more different when it came to the matter. His present soul felt annoyed, and angry at all that Jake had cost him. It had been Jake who had opened the gates to hell and released all those demons, and it had been Jake who had stabbed Sam in the back—figuratively and literally speaking.

Everything had turned eerily silent. No noise came from the lonely town and forest that surrounded them. The only thing Sam Winchester could hear was the sound of his own gentle breathing, and that of the solder's standing across from him; the one who possessed the crazy look in his eyes.

Sam tensed, taunt muscles bunched, and he rose to the balls of his feet. The last time his present-self had encountered the hand-to-hand combat with Jake had been the last time he had seen anything, for a short while. His present-self had lost, but he felt determined now; determined not to make the same mistake twice. Before, his present-self had made the mistake of allowing Jake to see his vulnerabilities. And also before, his present-self had also made the mistake of trying to reason with the solder. _I won't do that again, _Sam told himself firmly. Jake was right: only one of them was getting out of here alive, and this time he would make damned sure it wasn't Jake.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

No sound came. Sam Winchester could hear nothing besides his own raspy breathing, and that of the crazy young solder; the one who wanted to kill him. Sam kept his eyes fixated on Jake; he did not tear his eyes away even for a second. That one second could cost him his life. Sam watched Jake carefully. He wondered when Jake would attack. Sam wanted Jake to make the first move; it was a strategy he seemed to always use when fighting.

He had waited months for this moment; to get his revenge on Jake for all the hell he had put Sam and his brother through. Sam felt rage, hatred, and passion course through his body. He gritted his teeth. He was ready; ready for war, and ready to fight.

The solder, Jake, sensed the wrath in Sam, and his stance altered; the solder became more alert and alarmed. Jake feared him, Sam could sense it—he could taste it. Fear had never tasted as sweetly as it did now.

Though shorter, Jake was a much larger build than Sam, and most likely thought that an advantage. Sam didn't feel an ounce of fear. Unlike Jake who seemed a heartbeat away from running off in the other direction. Sam hoped that Jake would take the cowardly option and run, because it would save both of them a great deal of bruises, not to mention their sanity.

"You're not thinking clearly," Sam said. His tone of voice had softened. He knew that reasoning with Jake was not an option, but he had to at least try. Several minutes ago he had been out for Jake's blood but now he wasn't so sure that was the correct road to take anymore. He wasn't rethinking his initial plan for Jake's sake, but more so for his own. Over a year he had spent fearing for the 'dark side' he knew was contained within him. Over a year he had tried to prevent whatever it was he was supposed to become. And now he felt himself slipping. He could feel the rage inside him slowly take over his common sense. His past-self had not wanted to fight. It had not wanted to kill anyone. At first his present-self had disagreed. But now the callus that had surrounded his present soul's heart was beginning to crumble.

Sam did not want to kill anyone, anymore.

Before he could think through a new plan of action, Jake had taken his own. Sam felt a sharp pain course through him when Jake's heavy fist had made contact with the young man's face. Sam stumbled backward. The side of his face stung. He could feel the bruise forming already. "My thinking is perfectly clear, Sam," Jake snapped, before throwing another punch to the young man's face.

Part of Sam wanted to fight back, but the other part wanted to reason with Jake more. He looked up at Jake. He stared into the solder's intense and insane brown eyes. Sam knew that there was no reasoning with him. Jake was crazy, and trying to reason with the solder had been what had killed Sam before. He could not allow himself to make the same mistake. He wouldn't kill Jake, but he could knock him out.

Jake attempted to throw another beating Sam's way. Though Sam had seen it coming, had prepared for it, it was only instinct that had saved him from yet another heavy blow to the skull. She swiftly darted out of the way, avoiding the punch. He felt the cool breeze whip his face. The cheek bone on the right side of his face burned, but Sam ignored the pain. Pain was but an old friend to him. Pain was no stranger to Sam Winchester. With his right hand, he caught Jake's ankle, causing the solder to crash to the floor. Jake cringed as he fell. Something in the solder's chest had snapped when his body had made heavy contact with the ground. He didn't wince again. Instead he scurried away from Sam, and before no time was back on two feet and ready to fight.

_Damn you, _Sam thought irritably. He had heard some of Jake's ribs break, and had felt for sure that that would have been enough to bring him down. But clearly Sam had been wrong. Jake wasn't giving up without a fight. _Well, if it's a fight he wants, than a fight he shall receive._

Sam snapped a side kick at Jake's chest. The begun to stumble back, gingerly nursing his ribs. He glared at Sam. Sam could sense the hatred and anger the solder felt. The young man knew that Jake wanted him dead. But Sam wouldn't let Jake kill him, yet again.

Jake lunged. He lifted his leg out, and kicked Sam hard in the side. Sam could not avoid it. Something in his side had cracked, and all breath had escaped his lungs. He coughed. Then blood poured from the corners of his mouth. He whimpered. All the feeling had disappeared from his side. He wanted, he needed to collapse to the ground, but he would not allow himself to. There was no giving up, because surrendering meant dying. Jake wanted Sam dead and no part of him wanted to give the solder that satisfaction.

Sam took the searing pain in his ribs with ease. He tried not to think about the way his ribs would grate painfully as he swiftly moved to avoid more contact with the tip of Jake's army boots. Jake had aimed another simple kick. But Sam had been ready this time. He caught Jake's boot, then with two hands sent the solder crashing the earth ground once again.

"You never give up, do you?" Sam asked, sullenly. He moved toward Jake. The solder was still lying out of breath and face down on the ground. Sam took advantage of the situation and kicked hard at Jake's ribs. Again, something snapped. Sam's chapped lips curved into a grim smile. "Doesn't feel so pleasant now huh?"

Jake scowled. He looked up at Sam with pure loathing and insanity. "Son of a bitch," he cursed.

The grave smile had vanished from Sam's face. He reached for the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out the rusted knife. "Now," he began. Sam gripped firmly onto the mucky handle of the blade. Jake eyed the tarnished knife with both caution and fear. "We can do this the easy way; meaning you stay in the position you're in and we both leave this hell alive. Or we can do this…"

Jake slapped the knife away. He outstretched his hand, and then gripped tightly onto Sam's fist. Sam winced as Jake's fingernails cut into his flesh. After several seconds the solder released his firm grip, and had once again returned to a standing position. The solder was once again ready to fight.

"The hard way," Sam finished. His concerned eyes darted from the knife lying only meters away, to Jake who still stood before him. Sam outstretched his bloody fist, striking Jake firmly in the jaw. Blood poured from Jake's mouth and nose. The solder cursed under his breath. He lunged for Sam. He tried to use his heavier build to his advantage by shoving Sam to the ground. But Sam wasn't going to allow himself to fall that easily. He may be smaller build, but he was certain that he was stronger. Jake had been in Afghanistan as a solder for over a year, perhaps trained for a year or two before that. Sam had been a demon hunter since he was a child. As a kid he had spent vigorous hours training with his father; studying the arts of kick boxing, tae kwon do, kung fu, and fencing. At that moment Sam had never felt more appreciative and proud of his late father's parenting skills.

Sam had hesitated for a few seconds. He had been too lost in his own thoughts. He had made a mistake. Jake aimed another simple kick to his shoulders. Normally Sam would have been able to avoid the attack, by either darting out of the way or attempting some way of counteracting it, but this time he had not been quick enough. He felt himself falling backwards, but he did not allow his spine to touch the dirt. Though slightly hazy and riddled with pain, Sam felt more alert and alive than he had had been in a long time. Sam felt strong. He felt almost indestructible. Jake was using the same fighting techniques that his present-self remembered from their last encounter. Sam knew almost every move Jake was about to make. He was advantaged. What Sam also knew was anytime now Dean and Bobby would show up. He didn't need his older brother's help, not really, but he could use more weapons as apposed to the hand-to-hand combat he had been forced to use.

Sam was growing tired of Jake sending only simple and amateur kicks and punches to his skull and ribs. Sam leaped forward. He was going to show Jake how hand-to-hand combat _should _be done. Sam sent a roadhouse kick in Jake's direction. Much to Sam's annoyance, Jake dodged the kick. The solder got ready to send another swift punch in the young man's direction. Sam backed against the moldy wall of the one of the houses, and waited for Jake to strike. Just as he had planned, seconds before Jake's fist would have hit him, Sam dodged the heavy blow. The solder's fist never touched him, instead Jake's fist hit at full force against the wall. Something in his wrist broke perceptible snap. Jake shrieked.

Furious, Jake launched another blow at Sam using his good hand. Sam ducked, avoiding Jake's fist by inches. From below, Sam used both hands to grip firmly around Jake's ankle, and then used his whole strength to trip the solder up. Becoming a ritual thing for him, Jake had fallen to the ground. Satisfied, Sam placed his left foot on Jake's good wrist. He placed all his weight on his foot, pushing down hard on the solder's wrist. Once again, bones snapped. Sam was satisfied with the condition Jake was in, but it wasn't going to keep the solder from getting up and attacking him again. He lifted his foot away. He knelt to the ground. Sam stared for one last time into Jake's eyes. Jake was still scowling at Sam. He still wanted the young man dead. Sam sighed. He felt emotionless and drained. He did not wish to kill Jake anymore, but he wanted the fight to be over.

Sam was tired.

He clenched his hand; he moved his fist back, ready to strike. _If I just leave Jake unconscious then at least he won't be able to hurt anyone for awhile, _Sam concluded. And that was exactly what he was about to do. Sam was seconds away from sending Jake's vision into complete darkness when a voice in the background caused him to stop. Someone was shouting. Someone was calling his name. Sam did not back away from Jake, nor did he unclench his fist, though his senses became fully alert. He listened carefully, and in seconds Sam recognized the voice. "Dean," he whispered. Relief coursed through his body. It truly was over. Sam sent a heavy blow to Jake's skull, knocking the man unconscious. It was over.

When Sam stood up the muscles in his legs had twitched and ached. His lower ribs still hurt, but the pain was nothing like it had been before. Before making his way to his brother, Sam reached for the rusted knife that had been lying forgotten on the ground for hours. Sam trailed his index finger along the knife's tarnished blade, before tucking it securely in his back pocket.

"SAM!?" Sam heard Dean shout.

Sam spun around in time to see Dean rushing towards him. He curved his blood stained mouth into a smile. "Dean," Sam said with a cheerful tone to voice. Nothing could have taken away the happiness he was feeling at that moment. His brother was alive, and better still no deal had been made. Sam felt the guilt he had been carrying over his brother's death wash away.

Sam lunged forward, but instead of throwing a punch like he would have done with Jake, he flung his arms around his brother's shoulders and hugged him. Sam could feel Dean buckle under his weight and try to wriggle away, but Sam wouldn't let him. After several minutes of a back breaking, rib crushing, hug Sam released his grip. Though, the young man kept smiling.

"God Sam it's like I died or something," Dean muttered. "Honestly what's with the hug?"

"Nothing," Sam replied briskly. "It's just good to see you."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, well it's good to see you too. But I gotta tell you if you ever go missing like that again don't expect me to come looking for you."

Sam's grin broadened. "That's what you said last time. You were worried, weren't you?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah," he replied. Just then Bobby walked up to the two brothers, his facial expression was grim. He did not smile when he saw Sam, nor show any other emotion besides seriousness. The hunter rarely ever showed any emotion at all. But that was just the way the man was. Up until now, Sam was certain that he had never seen Bobby smile. Despite his blank features, the hunter had a sad linger to eyes. _Perhaps_ _he's upset because of the Roadhouse fire, _Sam wondered. He wanted nothing more than to inform Bobby that Ellen was still alive. _I'm not supposed to know these things, remember? _Sam reminded himself.

"It was Bobby here that was that was upset," Dean scoffed, placing an arm around Bobby's shoulders.

The hunter, Bobby scowled at Dean before pushing the young man's hand away briskly. Bobby looked away from Dean to Sam, his facial features immediatly softened. "It's good to see you Sam."

"Likewise," Sam replied.

"Hey what's with the kid?" Dean pointed at Jake's unconscious body.

Sam checked to see if Jake was still lying unconscious, and he still was, before answering. "He's another physic like me. It's kind of hard to explain, but it's all to do with the demon's master plan."

Dean nodded his head, indicating that he understood. "I hate that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, and his crappy plans" Dean cursed; referring to the Yellow-eyed-demon. "The kid's not dead, is he?" he added.

"No he's just out cold." Sam shook his head. "But he could wake up at any moment, so we better get a move on." Sam was eager to leave the town, and Jake, as soon as possible. They needed to leave so that they could deal with…

"Shit," Sam muttered.

"What is it!?" Bobby and Dean asked at exactly the same time.

Sam didn't answer them, but instead he went through the answer silently in his head. _The devil's gate, _he thought, _we still have to deal with the devil's gate. _


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

Sam sat casually and calmly on one of the leather sofas in Bobby Singer's living room. The young man watched as his older brother paced briskly up and down the room. Dean looked worried, but not as worried as Sam was feeling inside. He glanced over at Bobby; who was standing in the doorway. The hunter's facial expression was blank, almost emotionless. Though despite this, Sam could sense that Bobby was scared.

"So this Jack or Jake fellow is another spoon bender?" Dean asked Sam. Sam nodded in response. "I'm going to kill him. The little twit should know better."

"He was scared Dean," Sam replied "He didn't know what he was doing, not really. But think about it, what would you have done in his situation?"

"I wouldn't have tried to waste someone," Dean snapped. His eyes flared dangerously. Sam's older brother had stopped pacing. Instead Dean stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed firmly against his chest.

"He didn't have a choice. The Yellow-eyed-demon came to him in a dream. It told him stuff, filled his head with a whole bunch of crap. It basically scared Jake into thinking that he would be utterly doomed to spend eternity in that town full of ghosts and demons. You have to remember Dean that this demon is smart it knows what it's doing and it sure as hell knows how to build up people's paranoia…"

"And cause them to kill," Dean coldly finished. "I'm sorry Sam about your physic buddy going all psychotic, but that son of a bitch tried to kill you. Now whether the Yellow-eyed-demon filled his head with a heap of bullshit is beside the point. That guy tried to waste you and whether you'd like to believe it or not he had a choice. We have to end him before he kills anyone else."

"No," Sam said, gravely. "It's that I like the guy or anything, but you can't just kill another human being." Sam didn't like Jake, and as far he was concerned that son of a bitch deserved to die. But what he had just said hadn't been a complete lie; Sam couldn't allow Dean to go tearing off after Jake because it was Sam that was meant to kill him, not Dean. He couldn't risk screwing up the past anymore than he had already done. As far as Sam was concerned he had meddled with time enough and now all he wanted to do was go back to his own time and never travel through past or future time again. He hated the feeling of having two souls sharing the one body. At fist it had been okay, slightly uncomfortable, but never less okay. But now it felt awful. The two souls were still him, still Sam, but both had different views on things, like Jake; his past self wanted to kill Jake, while the other wanted to still try and reason with the guy. Sam shook his head. He felt sick and just wanted to go back home—back to the present, where he didn't have to deal with Jake or the Yellow-eyed-demon. Back home those two evil pebbles in his shoe were dead, but here they were both still alive.

"I thought you were going to die," Dean said tearfully. He looked away from Sam, perhaps to ensure that his younger didn't see the tears that had begun to spill from his hazel-green eyes. He hastily wiped the tears away from his eyes, using his leather jacket. When he looked back at Sam his facial features had softened. He no longer appeared as angry as he had been, but more tranquil and saddened.

Sam gave his brother a warm smile. He knew exactly how Dean felt because he had been placed in exactly the same position. "It's okay," Sam replied softly. "I know how you feel."

Both brothers turned sharply around when they heard Bobby let out a loud cough. "I hate to break up this hallmark moment. Really boys you're breaking my heart. We've got trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Dean asked Bobby.

"Demonic omens…and a crap load at that. I'm talking cattle deaths, lighting storms and the lot. They skyrocketed from out of nowhere. Here," Bobby said, holding up a large map. "All around here except for one place…southern Wyoming."

"Wyoming," Dean asked. He looked and sounded surprised.

"Yeah. That one area's totally clean…spotless. It's almost as if…"

"As if what, Bobby?" Sam asked. He knew exactly where this was all going, and the knowledge didn't sit too right with him either.

"The demons are surrounding it."

Dean's brow furrowed. "But you don't know why?"

"No idea." Bobby shrugged. "But hell it has to be something of damn great importance. I mean why else would a bunch of demons ignore it?"

"Don't know. Perhaps southern Wyoming isn't a demon's idea of a designated vacation spot" Dean joked. He took the map from Bobby, after the hunter offered it to him. He scanned over the large piece of paper. One of his eyebrows arched. "Wow. You weren't kidding; there really is a crap load of omens."

"See what I mean," Bobby said gruffly. "At this point my eyes are swimming. Perhaps you two wouldn't mind looking at it for me? Maybe you can catch something I couldn't. SAM?!"

Sam collapsed the ground. He was on hands and knees. The young man let out a scream as a sharp pain appeared in his side. He rolled to the ground. His hand covered his aggravated stomach. He felt a few drops of blood fall from corners of his mouth, but that wasn't the part that worried him most. The inside of stomach was searing. Through a blurred vision, Sam could see Bobby and Dean standing over him. Both men wore expressions of panic. The intense pain only lasted him five minutes, perhaps less, before fading completely. Sam slowly stood up on two feet, with the help of Bobby and Dean. "Thanks," he said. When he was certain that he wouldn't collapse again, Sam released himself from his brother's and friend's grips.

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean worryingly asked. "Was it a…you know…vision?"

"No," Sam answered snappishly. "I don't know what it was." He was lying, of course. Not about the visions, that he wasn't lying about. He had lied when he had told Dean that he didn't know what it was. Sam knew exactly what it had been. The pain he had just experienced meant he was going back to the present…soon. Sam had only several hours, at most, left. Soon his present-self would return to the time it belonged in.

"Bobby, is this really necessary?" Ellen asked. She looked from the glass of water, to Bobby who had just placed the glass in front of her.

"It's Just a belt of holy water. Shouldn't hurt."

Sam stood in the doorway of Bobby's dining room. His eyes shifted from Ellen, who looked fragile and tearful, to Bobby, who appeared stern and grim. Sam knew that the holy water wasn't necessary because Ellen wasn't possessed by a demon. But he couldn't say anything, because he wasn't supposed to know these things. Instead Sam leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, and his mouth shut. Ellen had showed up on Bobby's doorstep some five minutes after Sam's sudden collapse. She had been in a frightful state; her face had been stained with tears, her expression had been nothing short of depressing, and her long reddish brown hair had limp and sweaty.

"Whiskey now, if you don't mind," Ellen said. After she had sculled the entire glass of holy water, Ellen slid the glass across the wooden table. Ellen hadn't begun to foam or smoke at the mouth, so clearly she wasn't a demon, and that caused Bobby to let out a sigh of relief. He looked glad.

"Ellen what happened? How'd you get out?" Dean asked. He was, too, seated at the dining room table. He stared at her curiously.

"I wasn't supposed to. I was supposed to be in there with everyone else. But we ran out of pretzels, of all things. It was just dumb luck," Ellen replied. She took a large gulp of the whiskey Bobby had just passed her. "Anyway, that's when Ash called, panic in his voice. He told me to look in the safe. Then the call cut out. By the time I got back, the flames were sky-high, and everybody was dead. I couldn't have been gone more than ten minutes."

"I'm sorry, Ellen," Sam said. Ellen gave him a nod before burying her face in her hands.

"A lot of people died in there. And I got to live, lucky me."

"Ellen, you mentioned a safe," Bobby pointed out.

Ellen nodded. Her eyes and face were damp from tears. "A hidden safe we keep in the basement."

"Demons get what was inside?"

"No," she answered. Ellen took out a map and opened it on the table.

Bobby studied it for several minutes. His brow had furrowed, and his facial expression was screwed with concentration. "I don't believe it."

Sam stared out of the car window. Night had already fallen, and he could already feel himself slipping away. He wasn't quite sure if it had been twenty-fours yet, but he was certain that it was only an hour or maybe less away. Sam sighed. He tore his eyes away from the dark road scenery, and glanced at Dean. Things seemed normal again. Dean was driving the Impala and Sam was seated in the passenger seat, a large rolled map positioned on his lap. They had been driving for no less than forty minutes, but for Sam it felt like hours.

"What you have done if I would have died back there?" Sam asked Dean.

"What?" Dean asked. He had seemed slightly started by the question. "What do you mean back there? You mean back at Bobby's?"

Sam shook his head. "No, not Bobby's. I was talking about back at Coldoak?"

Dean did not take his eyes away from the road, but Sam could sense that his older brother seemed troubled by the question. "Don't say stuff like that, Sam," Dean replied harshly.

"What would you have done if Jake would have killed me?" Sam repeated. He had wanted to know the answer to this question since arriving at Bobby's. Sam knew that his brother was hardly going to answer with _"If you would have died I would have completely lost it. I would have left your body on a bloody mattress while I get in my car and then drive to the nearest crossroads. At the crossroads I would have bumped into that red-eyed-demon bitch from hell and begged her to exchange my soul for your life". _Sam hardy expected his brother to reply with that response. In fact, Sam would be utterly surprised if Dean did answer with that. "Well?"

"Well what? It's a stupid question Sam, and I'm not going to answer it."

"Come one Dean, please."

Dean sighed. "Fine," he said, finally giving in. "You know what I would have done? I would have cried. I would have been mad. And then I would have wanted to hunt that son of a bitch Jake down and tear the evil bastard limp from limp."

"Would you have done anything else?" Sam asked. He hadn't meant to cause his brother so much aggravation and sorrow, but he really wanted to know the answer.

"No," Dean snapped. "What the hell else would I have done?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps you would have sought revenge; which you mentioned. Or maybe you would have gone tearing off to that red-eyed-bitch at the crossroads and make a deal with the damn thing. I reckon you would have sold your soul for me. I think you would have spent an eternity burning away in hell because of…"

"SHUT UP!" Dean roared. Anger seemed to boiling within him, and his face had turned a nasty shade of red.

Sam had never seen his brother so furious before in his life. It was terrifying. He had not meant to make Dean so mad, but the words had just slipped out of his mouth. Before he had taken control over his mouth the intense words had already come out and damage had already been done.

"Listen never let me ever here you say anything like that…." "What's that?" Dean asked. He pointed toward Sam's mouth. "You're bleeding."

"I am?" Sam moved his hand over his mouth. When he removed it he noticed his hand was covered in blood. "Oh no! Oh God no!"

"What? What is it?" Dean asked, concerned.

_This is it,_ Sam thought, half excited and half nervous. _I'm going home—back to the present. _"No. Not yet," he said. Sam couldn't leave yet; he still hadn't dealt with the devil's gate, Jake, or the Yellow-eyed demon. _But that's not what I came back to do, _he reminded himself. _I cam back to prevent Dean from making the deal, and I have. _Besides Sam wouldn't really be leaving, not really. His past-self would remain in the past, as it should, and his present-self would return back to its own body.

"What is it?" Dean demanded. But Sam didn't answer him. He couldn't really answer him, not with the truth anyway. And Sam hardly doubted his brother would buy the 'it's nothing' excuse again.

"Listen, Dean. You have to close the devil's gate. I know this will all sound crazy right now, but pretty soon you will know what I mean. You have to shut it. Don't hesitate, just shut it. Okay?"

"Yeah," Dean answered in length. He eyed Sam cautiously and curiously. "You haven't had another one of your freaky vision things, have you?"

"N—Yeah actually I have," Sam lied. "Yes I had a vision and I saw a gate opening in the cemetery and _a lot _of demons escaping from hell. You need to close it before too many get out, okay?"

"Oka…"

Before Dean had been able to get his promise out, Sam had collapsed once again. He felt the same searing sensation. But this time it was worse, it had had spread over his entire body. It felt like someone was trying to rip something from his insides. He screamed and blood spilled from his mouth and nose. He wasn't dying, he would know if he was. But with the pain he was in Sam would have gladly taken a shotgun to the head. He could feel his soul tearing, separating from his body. And then everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

_He was falling.  
And yet soon the fear that had once filled his insides seemed to fade. The sensation of falling nauseated him. The last thing Sam remembered seeing was Dean's angered face before everything had gone dark. The darkness had only lasted a few seconds, and then the feeling of being pushed off a cliff had come. He had opened his mouth to scream but no words had come out. Only twenty-four hours had passed since he had last endured the uncomfortable experience of time-traveling. Even though this was his second time it didn't help much. The experience was just as awkward and jarring. _

_Sam closed his eyes. He tried to concentrate. Remembering what Frank had told him, Sam tried to stay focused and calm. The sorcerer had warned him that the journey back would be more problematic, so it was crucial to stay focused and calm. Sam tried to remain as relaxed as he could. Staying relaxed was slightly difficult, but nothing he couldn't accomplish. But staying focused had proved not only to be difficult, but practically impossible. He could not consecrate due to the uncomfortable situation he was in. Also he wanted to throw up, and that wasn't helping his levels of concentration and assurance. _

_Slowly, the young man began to allow his eyes to open. His vision was slightly blurred. But he knew that that was due to his surroundings and not to his eye sight. Darkness surrounded him. Sam could see numerous bright lights around him. They speckled the darkness, reminding him of stars in the night's sky. He could feel the same tugging sensation he had felt before, but it wasn't quite so irritating and painful the second time around. Whatever invisible force was pulling at his body wasn't pulling him backward, but forward. Something had pushed him, and then he had begun to fall. _

_The argument Sam had had with his older brother only moments before tainted him with guilt and angst. He still could not believe that he had said the things he had said to Dean. But the words had just slipped from his mouth. He hadn't meant to hurt Dean. Sam hadn't even meant to open his mouth to begin with. The pangs of guilt were not getting any better. He had been with his brother for no longer than twenty-four hours and in that time Sam had fought with his older brother twice. Nothing to take his terrible feeling away, and doubted anything ever could. _

_The blanket of darkness soon began to lighten. Those tiny specks of light were no longer visible. Sam had to half close his eyes to get a better look at what awaited him ahead. To his annoyance, he couldn't see anything. Nothing, save darkness was awaiting him on the other side. _

He could see only darkness. His body felt rigid and bruised. Gingerly, Sam opened his eyes, and then took a look around at his surroundings. He was lying face down on the floor, again. At first, Sam had been under the impression that when he returned to the present he would be back to the place where the spell was cast: Frank's house. But wherever he was now didn't look like the old sorcerer's living room, or any room. _So where am I? _

Using all the strength he had left in his pained arms, Sam successfully hoisted himself back on two feet. He cringed when pain shot through the muscles in his arms, legs, and torso. The pain was no more painful than it had been when he had re-visited the past. The pain was easier to ignore now. Sam was no stranger to pain; it pissed him off greatly, but he could deal with it.

On two feet once again, Sam took a look around the room. He was standing in the middle of very dusty, dirty, and cramped living room that from the looks of things hadn't been cleaned or lived in for a few years at least. Sam crinkled his nose when an intense smell filled his nostrils. He sniffed the air, and then took several deep breaths of the musty air in. It only took him no longer than a few seconds to recognize the smell. Like a florist knew the fresh and delightful aroma of different flowers, like a hairstylist knew the charred egg smell of a bad eighty's perm, a demon hunter knew the scent of…

"Sulfur," Sam muttered under his breath. "Damn it!"

Sam made his way through the untidy living room. He shifted his way through scattered old books and tore pieces of paper. Using his foot, Sam pushed a fallen wooden coffee table out of his path. It hadn't been difficult, nor had it required that much strength; the coffee table had been splintered. _What the hell happened here? _Sam wondered. Twenty-four hours ago the place had been messy, sure, but now it looked worse. Think layers of dust covered nearly everything. Papers, broken candles, books, and bits of splintered wood and broken pieces of furniture littered the floor. The thin curtains were ripped and torn. And numerous patches of dried blood caught his eye every second. Sam bent down, and examined the blood. He ran his index finger along the crimson stained floor. As far as he could tell the blood appeared and smelled human, but it was dried. Whoever had been attacked, or killed most likely, would have had to of been gutted over three weeks ago…at least. Twenty-four hours ago, there had been no blood…so where had to all come from?

"Frank!" Sam shouted. His voice echoed of the dark and haunted walls. Sam tried calling again, but no one came. He kept pacing around the living room. His head began to pound furiously. His brain was spinning out of control. _What happened to the place? How can this all of happened in the space of twenty-four hours? And where the hell is Frank? _So many questions began to fill his head. But Sam had not one single word to answer even one of them. He was lost, vexed, and had no clue about what the hell was going on. _Where am I? _

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

Sam heart was pounding fiercely against his chest. His ears were ringing. And every tiny noise he heard from now on made his skin crawl. Someone had just spoken to him, asked him question. Someone had startled him, and almost gave him a heart attack. Sam spun around. He came face to face with that someone. His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened…though not because of fear. He was surprised, but not afraid. There, standing before him, was the sorcerer, Frank.

"Thank goodness," Sam gasped. He began to breathe heavily. He took deep breaths. He breathed heavily through his nose, allowing the musty air to fill his lungs, and then breathed out again through his mouth. Sam had never felt more relived in his life. All the angst he had been feeling only minutes ago seemed to of pasted. He was not standing in the living room of some funky dimensional plane. He was just standing in the living room of a human's home, on good old planet Earth.

"What the hell are you doing in MY house?" Frank demanded. He glared at Sam fiercely. Cold hate and rage filled his crazy and intense eyes. And what he pulled from behind him caused Sam's jaw to drop even further. But this time it was from fear.

"Whoa!" Sam exclaimed. He stared to back carefully away from the dangerous shotgun Frank was holding firmly. The sorcerer had lifted the shotgun, coked it, and then aimed it for Sam's skull. "Is this really necessary?"

"Answer my question. And then…I may answer yours."

"What the hell is this?" Sam asked, shocked and confused. "You know me. And yet you treat me like I'm some kind of strange…."

"I don't know who the hell you are." Frank spat. "All I know is that I have an intruder in my home. Now how the hell did you get in here? I've got salt lined against every wall, and every window. There is no way you filthy little bastards can get in."

_He thinks I'm a demon, _Sam thought. He was confused, utterly. He had just seen Frank twenty-four hours ago, and yet the old man didn't seem to recognize him…at all. Sam's brow furrowed. _Where's Ruby, _he wondered. Sam looked around the room, but couldn't see anything save the shotgun Frank had aimed at the young man's forehead. Sam had figured that the demon, Ruby, had cleared out hours ago. But he had to wonder why she would leave "her friend" in the condition he was in. _Unless she's dead, _Sam thought with concern. He glanced swiftly toward the patches of dried blood. _No, _he thought. Sam shook his head. _Ruby's not dead. She can't be dead. And besides the only way to waste a demon is by shooting them with the colt…which Frank doesn't have. __But Ruby has a demon killing knife…so what if… _No. Sam couldn't think about it anymore. The thought of something bad happening to Ruby scared him. And the fact that he was upset over Ruby was what frightened him most.

"Where's Ruby" It had been more of a demand than a question. Sam stared fiercely at Frank, just like the sorcerer was at him. "What have you done with her? Have you killed her?"

"What the hell?" Frank asked, bewildered. "I haven't laid eyes on that filthy bitch since three decades ago when I sent her, head spinning and projectile vomiting, back to hell."

Sam frowned. Nothing Frank had just said made a lick of sense to him. "How is that possible? You saw her no less than twenty-four hours ago. You sent me back to the past with a spell. You helped me."

Frank's eyes narrowed. "I don't know who you are…or what you are. But I don't know what you're waffling on about. I haven't practiced magic in over a year. And I certainly haven't been wasting my time sending people back in time. As for Ruby; you say you're working with that whore?"

"Yes". Sam shook his head. He could not believe he had just said that. Clearly the man was unstable, but the words had just blurted out…again. Sam was so irritated with himself. He figured if he lived through this experience he may as well stitch his mouth together to prevent himself from talking, and saying the wrong things at, clearly, the wrong times.

"Well then." Frank lowered the shotgun, aiming now from Sam's chest. "I'm going to send that blonde-haired skank a message."

It happened in only a matter of seconds. A loud bang and Sam was lying on the ground. White, searing, and blinding pain shot through his shoulder. His vision became cloudy. Blood gushed from the bullet wound in his shoulder. Sam winced in pain. Every time he moved any muscle in his arm his shoulder blade would twinge painfully.

"What the hell was that for?" Sam cried. Tears sprang from his eyes. He used to both hands to apply pressure to the wound. Sam knew he wasn't dying; the bullet had merely grazed his shoulder. But he was loosing a lot of blood. He needed to go to the hospital. But first he needed to get away from Frank. Sam looked up, and saw Frank kneeling over him. The sorcerer watched the young man with both expression of glee and enjoyment. He was pleased with what he had done. And then, the sorcerer let out a soft, cruel and cold chuckle, which sent a chill through Sam.

_The sorcerer, Frank, _Sam thought, _He's gone insane. _

Sam watched helplessly as Frank, once again, aimed the shotgun at him. This time it was aimed for his heart.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

His heart beat was rapid. His breath was raspy, and quick.  
Sam stared up at Frank; the one who aimed a shotgun for his heart. The young man's eyes were large with fear and shock.

"Are you crazy!?" Sam exclaimed. But that was the thing; he knew that Frank _was _insane. While traveling back in time something had happened; to the house, to Ruby, and the sorcerer himself. Sam knew that it was either because of his meddling with the past, or perhaps because of a demon…_or most likely both. _Sam watched, wide eyed, as Frank placed his fingers on the trigger. The sorcerer was just moments away from pushing it down. Sam had to think fast. He knew that any sudden movement on his behalf would result in a bullet piercing his heart.

"Goodbye," Frank whispered. The sorcerer's intense, maddened eyes seemed to burn a hole in Sam's skull. Perhaps it was magic, but Sam though most likely it was because of the dread he was feeling. And the hatred Frank seemed to be feeling at that moment. "—Demon."

Sam gulped. _What? _Sam thought to himself. He felt shocked. _Is this guy some kind of nut? I'm not a demon. He thinks I'm a demon. _"I don't think so," Sam said sternly. He had tried to keep his voice as grave and courageous as possible, despite the confusion and angst he felt on the inside. Sam wouldn't let his enemy see his fear. And that was exactly what he had to refer to Frank as: the enemy. What else could he call someone that was aiming a shotgun, reading to puncher a bullet hole in his heart?

"What?" Frank asked angrily.

Sam grinned confidently. "I'm a demon, right?" he lied. "So that shotgun isn't going to do much good, is it?" Sam kept his expression grave. He had to remain confident—even if his plan was completely foolish. _But it's the only plan I've got, _Sam reminded himself.

"Perhaps this won't kill ya." Frank scowled. "But I can shoot both kneecaps, perhaps your shoulders. You're right it won't make you drop, but I can promise that it's going to hurt like hell. One way or another, you're not getting out of here in one piece. That's a promise."

Sam's eyes widened. He felt fear and anxiety flood his insides, course through his body, and take over his mind. Frank was right: there was no way he could get out of the house in one piece. _No, _Sam angrily to himself. _I'm not giving up. I have to find Ruby. I have to find Dean. I have to make sure their both still alive. _Sam felt certain that his brother was alive. He had changed the past, after all. He had prevented Dean from making that foolish deal. And if things had gone _exactly _as he hoped they had then Dean would alive. _But one thing is for sure; I'll never truly know if I die in the hands of a nut-job._

He couldn't hesitate, and he couldn't wait any longer. If Sam was going to do anything to get himself out of this sticky situation he needed to think fast. He had to think _now. _Sam waited for a few seconds; waited for Frank to let his guard slip. He watched closely and carefully. The young man didn't blink. Sam's eyes began to water, but he didn't let them rest. He couldn't miss anything. The right moment was only seconds away, and he couldn't miss it.

Waiting time was up! Sam thrust his entire strength into a kick aimed at Frank's stomach. The sorcerer groaned. He stumbled backwards. _Moments come, _Sam thought. Confidence and determination began to wash away all the dread and angst he had been feeling before. Sam knew that he wasn't going to loose, and that was a good feeling. But he wasn't going to kill Frank. He couldn't. The sorcerer was a nut, but he wasn't evil. It was Sam's job to waste demons and other hellish creatures, not psychotics with the seven second memory span of a goldfish. Sam used Frank's stumbling backwards to his own advantage. Moaning in agony, Sam briskly stood up. He was once again in a standing position. Sam allowed his feet to slight spread apart, and he clenched his bloody fists. He was ready to fight. He felt adrenaline pump through his body like hot blood.

With a single, fluid motion, Sam spiraled into the air toward Frank and kicked the shotgun from his hands, making heavy contact with the old man's hand in the process. Frank let out a scream of agony. He stared at Sam fiercely, while clutching his reddening wrist. "You'll pay for that one." He spat.

Sam frowned. "Do you have any idea how many crazy-people had said that to me….well actually you're the first one. But many other things have said that to me. And you wanna know something? I never pay for anything. They lie."

Frank recoiled. Hate seemed to bleed from the sorcerer's eyes. Sam felt a chill creep up his spine. There was something seriously unnerving about Frank. He didn't know what it was, but the guy seriously freaked him out. It wasn't just now, but when Sam had first met the old man he had known in his gut that something was off. There seemed to be a darkness that surrounded the man. _But still, I'm not going to kill him. I can't. I just need to get out of here, and find Dean._

Sam snapped another heavy blow at Frank, followed by a roundhouse kick that hit the sorcerer square in the jaw. Frank cursed at Sam. He held his good hand over his bloody mouth, attempting to catch the blood that flowed from the corners. "You," Frank said. He pointed a shaking index finger at Sam. "You're not a demon, are you?"

Sam shook his head. "Took a few bruises and some blood loss for you to figure that one out?" The young man raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know by the way? You know apart from the fact that I got in here despite the salt that line every inch of the house. And not to mention the several devils' traps you've painted on the walls. Seriously I would have thought you'd of figured it out by now."

Frank didn't smile. He eyed Sam warily. "If you're not a demon than what the heck are you?"

Sam gave the sorcerer a small smile. Though there had been no joy in his grin, just gladness; for that he hadn't been shot in the skull or heart. "I'm just another human being. Just like you."

Frank shook his head. "No, no…you…you…can't be. It's not possible."

Sam's brows knitted. He watched closely as the old man retreated to the dusty corner of the room. Frank allowed his spine to slide along the wall until he eventually made contact with the hard flooring. The sorcerer curled himself into a small heap on the ground. His eyes were wide with fear, and his entire body shook frantically. It took Sam only a few more seconds of observation to understand that Frank wasn't crazy…he was scared. Someone or something had seriously shaken the sorcerer. Sam knew for certain that whatever it had been could not be good. He looked around the room. His eyes shifted from the clumps of waste and mess to the think layers of dust that caked almost everything in the house. Though he had been standing in the room for no longer than a couple of hours Sam's jacket had caught its own fair share of dust.

"Have you even left this house?" Sam asked Frank. It appeared as if the old man had been hibernating in the one small house for the past year, perhaps more.

Frank shook his head. "Can't…can't leave," he stuttered. "They…they'll kill me." The sorcerer began to shiver, even more, as Sam started to approach.

"It's okay," Sam said kindly, he held both hands he approached Frank. "Just relax, and stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you. I swear I won't. Trust me, and maybe I can even get you out of here."

Frank stared at the young man as if he were mad.

"Where's your phone?"

"Leave…leave? What do you mean by leave?" the sorcerer asked Sam. "You…you're not thinking about leaving…are you?"

Sam gave the old man a short nod. "Yes. And so are you."

The sorcerer shook his head briskly. "No," he replied bluntly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sam frowned. "You mean you _actually _want to stay here?" he asked, perplexed.

Frank sighed softly, and then stared at Sam both fearfully and sadly. "It…it's not a case of want. It's a ca…case of have to. I have to stay. I ca…cannot leave."

Sam stared at the old man for a few moments. The young man felt tears well in his eyes. He had never witnessed something so sad. Something had frightened his man, and this _something _seemed to have 'demon' written all over it. "Have it your way. But I'm not staying. Now, where's your phone?"

The old man gestured his head slowly, and shakily, towards one of the only end tables that had not been knocked over or smashed. "It's on there. But won't do you much good," he added just seconds after Sam had begun to move towards the tarnished table.

"Why not?" Sam wanted to know.

"The lines bugged. They…they'll he…hear you."

Sam kept walking toward the phone. His fingers curled themselves around the receiver. "I'll take my chances," he replied gravely. Sam hadn't started dialing any numbers, yet. Instead the young man stared down at the phone's receiver with both sadness and curiosity. He knew so many numbers in his head and off by heart; the Roadhouse, Ellen's, Jo's, Bella's, Bobby's, Dean's, and several of his old friends from Stanford. But most of them seemed fairly useless. Sam decided to call the only number that seemed the most useful and the one he remembered off by heart: Dean's.

Holding his breath, Sam dialed, but the number was out of service. "Son of a bitch," Sam cursed. He slammed the receiver down. He didn't feel angry, but frightened and worried. What if something had happened to Dean? Than it would it would be his fault. He was the one that went back in time in order to change something that had happened. What if his meddling had caused something bad to happen, to Dean and to countless others that he loved? Images filled his mind; images of Dean, Bobby, Ellen, and Ruby…and heck even the smart-ass Bella, all dead. A tear rolled down his cheek. Sam wiped it away hastily, and then shook his head. "No," he muttered sternly. "They can't be dead. They just can't be." But even as he said it, Sam knew that his words had felt just as hollow as they had sounded. If something had happened Sam would never be able to forgive himself, ever. And this time it truly would be _his _fault.

"So tha…that's it then?" Frank asked.

Sam's heart had jumped. He turned to look at Frank. He had almost forgotten that the old man was still in the room, huddled in the corner of the room. The young man didn't smile. There was no expression upon his face. His cheeks were still damp from the tears, but he ignored them. He didn't feel much like crying, swearing, or doing anything besides finding his brother. "Keys?" Sam outstretched his hand.

"What?" Frank asked.

"I need the keys to your car?" Sam responded harshly. "NOW."

Frank shook a bit as he gave the young man a nod. He slowly stood, and then reached into the pockets of his scuffed and tattered pants. "Don't tell them that I helped you," the old man whispered, slapping the keys in Sam's palms. "I'm not supposed to help," he muttered, and then turned his back on Sam. The old man walked away, muttering to himself. Sam stared after Frank for several minutes, and then he too turned away, though unlike Frank Sam was headed for the front door. Sam gripped his sweaty palm around the door handle; the keys to the car were in the other. He stared down at the knob. He hesitated because he did not know what would await him. And he wasn't concerned about the rest of the world, but Dean. _What if Dean's dead…or worse; what if my brother has lost his mind. _


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Short amounts of pain shot painfully through his entire body. Sam cringed. He was dealing with the after effects of the separation of his soul. He had visited the past, and time travel was nothing like was in the movies. Time traveling was much like astral projection, as Sam had been told, your body stayed put but your spirit moved. At first it hadn't hurt, but had felt more uncomfortable. But now, Sam was forced to recoil in pain almost every second. His soul was still mending, resting, from being ripped clean from its body. It felt much like a healing wound; still aggravating, yet healing so very slowly.

Sam's eyes began to water. He had no idea of the time, or how long he had been driving for. He was tempted to pull over to the nearest motel, just so that he could rest his head against a soft pillow. But he couldn't. He had to find Dean. Sam's tired eyes felt strained. He knew they were reddened, but it felt like they must have been bleeding. _That's not possible. They just hurt. _Sam tore his eyes away from the darkened and deserted road for a second, and glanced down at his hands. The blood from before had dried, but he still wondered how they had got there. He hadn't hurt Frank, not really, he had just knocked the shotgun away. Perhaps Sam had fractured the sorcerer's wrist in the process, but he was certain he hadn't caused anything more than a few scraps and bruises. Yet his hands had been covered in blood, why? How? The question still haunted him. He had to know, but he was certain that he would never receive an answer. "It's nothing," Sam told himself. But even to him; his words had never sounded hollower. He had only thought those words aloud in a feeble attempt to prevent himself from worrying so much. But he had failed. Sam didn't know where the blood had come from, and he wasn't quite certain that he really wanted to know anymore.

His fingers curled themselves tighter around the steering wheel of Frank's car. His knuckles had turned white and the skins on the palm of his hands were starting to blistered. But Sam didn't pull over. He had no idea where he was headed. He had not a clue where he was. The road was so deserted, so darkened. Even if there had been a road sign it wouldn't have done too much use in this light. For the moment it didn't really matter where he was headed, all Sam wanted to do was find the nearest gas station…or better still: the nearest. But he had been driving for over an hour and so far he had seen nothing; not even a hitchhiker at the side of the road. It was as if the whole world had just up and left him. But Sam knew that that wasn't possible. After all Frank had still been there, and his house had still been standing. He remembered back to when the demon Ruby had took him to the sorcerer's house for the first time. They had been driving for hours, and Sam couldn't remember seeing any other houses or gas stations. At that moment Sam swore to himself that when the time came to finally invest in purchasing a house he wouldn't opt for a place in the middle of nowhere. Small towns he got, but people that lived in a little cottage where there wasn't even a local gas station or market glace were just crazy.

Sam was forced to squint his eyes to get a better look at his surroundings. Nothing but tall, thick, and gloomy looking trees surrounded him. The road was only narrow and darkened. Sam felt a chill crawl up his spine. The area that surrounded him reminded him of one of those beginning scenes of a horror movie. Now all he had to do was pick up some shady hitchhiker.

"Perhaps I spoke a little too soon," Sam muttered. There standing at the side of road, ahead, was a darkened figure. As he drove closer he noticed that the darkened figure was a young man, no older than thirty. Sam slowed the car. Part of him was cautious, though the other part was excited. Apart from Frank this hitchhiker was the only other human being he had seen. _Well there goes the 'insane' theory about society vanishing, _Sam thought to himself with relief.

The closer he got to the hitchhiker the more scared Sam became. The hitchhiker was only young, yet looked older than he should. He had shoulder length black hair that was mattered and looked oily and unwashed. The dark hair hung as a curtain over the hitchhiker's crazy eyes. He kept muttering to himself in words Sam could not understand. Those dark eyes were move from here more quickly than it would take one to blink.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, warily. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, and rolled down the window. The hitchhiker stopped in his tracks, and turned to stare at Sam. The young man gulped, and his hands fastened themselves firmly around the handle of a long and sharp kitchen knife; he had stolen earlier from Frank's house. Sam figured it wasn't the best weapon. But it was the only one he had at this point. When he found the Impala, however, there was a whole variety of arsenal in the truck. But until then Sam had to make do with what he had. Besides if the knife turned out to be completely useless he could always throw it away and then break the 'bad guys' noses with his fist.

The hitchhiker kept staring. He swayed from side to side. His eyes never left Sam. Sam stepped out of the car. He had tucked the knife away in his jacket pocket. He watched the stranger; carefully and cautiously. Sam didn't trust him, but he needed answers. "Are you alright?" Sam repeated. The hitchhiker backed away from Sam. He walked strangely, as if he had a limp. Sam's eyes briskly darted toward the stranger's legs. As far as he could see there was no wound. But then again the hitchhiker was wearing tattered jeans. Even if there was a wound he wouldn't be able to see it.

"Do you need some help?" Sam asked. There weren't any visible wounds on the stranger's legs, but the man's unwashed face was near covered in painful looking bruises, burns and grazes. "Hey!" Sam shouted. He lunged forward and gripped forcefully onto the stranger's left arm.

The hitchhiker yelped. Eyes wide, he stared at Sam in both fright and hostility. Sam released the man's arm from his firm grasp. He wondered if this man was some sort of paranoid.

"Why aren't you working?" the hitchhiker asked. "We must work. They will kill us." "We must work," he repeated.

Sam frowned. He backed away. The hitchhiker kept repeating the same two sentences over and over again. He repeated them at least eight times before Sam finally spoke. "Umm, day off?" Sam shrugged.

The stranger shook his head. "No, no, no. No days off."

"Alright, alright," Sam said gingerly. He placed both hands in the air, and kept slowly backing away from the insane stranger. "Sorry I didn't…"

"Where is your master?" The stranger asked.

Sam frowned. "Master?" he asked curiously. "I don't have a master."

The stranger kept shaking his head franticly. His dark pupils were as wide as saucers. The stranger clapped his bruised and filthy hands to his ears. He shook his head, again, and then moaned. "I cannot hear this. We all have masters. They will kill us all."

Brows still knitted, Sam kept staring at the man. He wondered whether or not to just get back in the car, start driving, and leave the crazy man and his imaginary master. Sam shook his head. That wasn't a good plan. Sure the man was a nut, but clearly he needed help and Sam needed answers. "I forgot, I do have a master," Sam lied. He figured he ought to play along if he wanted to get any answers out of this crazy man. "But the problem is I seem to have lost my master. Can you please point me in the direction of the nearest town? Please?"

The stranger nodded, and then pointed ahead. "Keep driving along the road. You will find a town soon."

"Thank you," Sam said. He turned to walk back to his car, but then paused in his tracks. "Do you need any help?" he asked, turning around to look at the stranger.

The stranger shook his head. "No. I am no one." Before Sam could even answer the man had started walking away, again. He tried calling after him, but the hitchhiker did not turn around. Sam turned around, and walked back to the car. He opened the rusted door, and slid back into the driver's seat. This was all getting more and weirder for him. First it had been Frank, and then the crazy hitchhiker. Was the whole world insane? And what were these "masters" that the stranger had kept mentioning?

* * *

As he drove along nearly deserted roads, Sam was chilled by the changes he saw around him. He was in the city. He wasn't sure where exactly it was, or if he had ever been there before. But he was certain that no city in the world could possibly look like this one. A few cars passed him by, and most stores were boarded up. He noticed that most of the buildings were either covered in graffiti, or had been partly destroyed by fire. The parking lots and some of the roads were cracked and overgrown. Sam wondered why anyone would want to live in a horrible and dark city like this one. And he also wondered if the rest of the world was like this. Were these the consequences that Frank had referred to? _No, _Sam thought stubbornly. He shook his head at the very idea. _No. This is just the town. It's probably just abandoned. I didn't do this. I couldn't of. Could I?_

Sam figured it would be better to enter the town as quietly as possible. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself. Obviously people had abandoned this town for a reason, and Sam didn't want to find out what that reason was. He parked the car in the parking lot of a nearby Chinese restaurant that had, too, been boarded up shut. Sam decided that it was best to abandon the car. He would continue the rest of the way on foot.

Sam walked along the cracked footpath of the town. He looked around. More questions swirled in his mind; some being 'what the hell had happened here'. It looked as if a massive bomb had gone off and everyone had died. But not everyone was dead. Sam noticed a pair of dodgy-looking homeless men raiding a nearby dumpster behind a boarded up Starbucks. The pair of homeless men bared their teeth aggressively at Sam when he walked passed. Sam tried not to look at them. If possible, he wanted to avoid any more fights…for now.

He passed quietly by the two homeless men. Sam kept looking around at the deserted, dark and post-apocalypse scenery. The more he saw the more he began to frown. Sam stopped outside of a clothing store; that like everything was boarded up. He walked up to the muddy window. Using his jacket sleeve he was able to wipe away some of dirty; just enough so that he could read the tiny print. He frowned more. He recognized the name, not of the store but of the town. _This is town I was in when Dean died. _But he didn't recognize any of this. The town had been crowed with people twenty-four hours ago, but now it was nothing more than he mere ghost town. _What the hell has happened here? _


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Wow chapter 10. I never would have thought I would have gotten this far without stuffing up the story yet. There is so much more to go…of this story I mean. I just want to say thank you to those who have stuck through this fic so far. As I've already said (numerous times) it means a heap. And if I could I would give you all a cookie…not one that I baked, though, because they'd most likely taste unspeakable and be burned to a crisp. Anyway…on with chapter ten.

* * *

**CHAPTER 10**

Sam closed his eyes, and pictured in his mind what the town had looked like…before now. Not one part of him wished this to not be some kind of nightmare. It had to be, because this was not right. This was not normal. How could one small thing cause so much chaos? It just was not possible. Sam kept his eyes firmly shut. He did not want to open them. He did not want to have to look at the town, at the boarded up windows, at the charred buildings, overgrown gardens and fractured roads. He did not want to look at the hell he had caused.

_This can't be right, _Sam kept thinking over and over again. He kept shaking his head from side to side; much like that crazy hitchhiker had done when Sam had tried to speak to him. But now Sam understood why that man was insane: because he'd had to endure this kind of environment. There was no sunlight, just a grey and gloomy sky. There were no plants, despite the deadened and dense grass he stood on. There was not a sound to be heard. And every time Sam took another deep breath he nearly choked on the polluted air. The air was suffocating…he couldn't stand it anymore.

His eyes snapped open, and just like he had suspected; nothing had changed. Sam was still standing on deadened and overgrown grass, outside of an out-of-business discount boutique. He felt confusion, guilt, and even dread fill his insides with a toxic feeling. His head pounded, and his eyes stung. Sam wanted to collapse on the ground, go to sleep, and wake up to find that this whole thing, Dean's death, his going back in time and fixing a mistake only to realize that he had caused something much worse, had all been some kind of insane dream. Perhaps he just was dreaming. Sam pinched the skin on his arm. He winced, and then watched as a small patch of his olive complexioned skin turned raw red. "I'm not dreaming," Sam said to himself quietly. "This world is real."

Sam felt his heart skip a beat, and his senses to become fully alert at the sound of quiet laughing behind him. He spun around, and came face-to-face with a young woman. The young woman had not jumped at Sam's sudden movement. She stared at him, not angrily or hate filled but more curiously and entertained. Sam watched her carefully as the young woman continued to laugh.

"I'm sorry," she said, brushing back her tangled and mattered long dark brown hair. "But honestly: 'this world is real'. What kind of crap was that?"

Sam frowned irritably at her. "No one asked you," he replied bluntly. He hadn't meant to sound so rude, but having some stranger laugh at him was the last thing he wanted at that particular moment in his life. He didn't even know who this woman was, or what she was. Sam's eyes glanced over her. He decided to cross demon off the list as she wasn't sporting any entirely black eyes. Sam stared closely at her. Her eyes were not black, but there was still something strange about them. The colour of her dazzling light blue eyes had shocked him at first. Whoever she was there was a confidence, cleverness and cockiness about the young woman which made Sam's skin crawl. Just from sight he knew he couldn't trust her.

_What is she wearing?_ Sam wondered, staring down at the ragged and filthy material that hung loosely off of the young woman's petite frame. Her clothing choice reminded him of a slave's uniform, something from the ancient Egyptian times or something. The more he examined her clothing the more he came to realize that she was not wearing it by choice.

"It's hardly polite to stare," the young woman said. Her light blue eyes shifted in ways that caused Sam to feel rather uncomfortable.

"I'm not the only one that's staring," Sam answered.

The young woman didn't respond, instead she kept staring at him curiously. A small grin played across her pouty yet parched lips. "What's your name?" she asked as if the two of them were having a polite conversation of some kind.

Sam's brows knitted. He didn't know whether or not he should tell her. He didn't know who, or even what, she was.

"Tell me," the young woman began. She walked gracefully and swiftly toward him. She brushed her face against his, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "—and I'll leave you alone."

Sam thought for a few moments. It couldn't hurt to tell this young woman his name. What could one do with that sort of information? After all she hadn't done anything to him besides cause him to feel uncomfortable and shiver slightly. All she wanted was to know his name, and perhaps if he answered her question she could answer some questions he had for her. The young woman was creepy, but she seemed the only 'sane' person Sam had met so far. That had been saying something. "Fine, I'll answer you question. But I want you answer some questions I have."

"Always a catch," the young woman replied dryly. She had moved away from Sam, and had returned to standing before him with her arms casually by her side. Sam could tell that the young woman was thinking it over. He could not read minds but he was fairly certain that the same thing he had been thinking minutes ago was along the same lines that she was thinking. "What do you want to know?" she asked, in length.

Sam gave her a small grin. "I want to know what's happened: to this town, to the people."

"All that for just a silly name?" the young woman scoffed.

"It's Sam," he firmly retorted.

The young woman smiled. "There, that wasn't quite so difficult now was…"

She had not been able to complete her sentence due to the sound of a high pitched scream. Sam's heart had skipped yet another beat. Goosebumps began to trail up and down his arms and torso. The scream had been more of pained wail. He shivered. It hadn't sounded human. Immediately his right hand reached into his jacket pocket. His fingers tightened around the kitchen knife's handle. He had never been more relieved, at that moment, that he had a weapon on him. But Sam's eyes darted immediately back to the young woman who, like Sam had been, staring fearfully in the direction the scream had come from. He wondered if she had any way of protecting herself, but the answer was 'most likely not'. She had no pockets and no knife, gun or even bat was set in her hands. She was completely defenseless.

Sam's mouth dropped slightly when he noticed the young woman scramble towards a nearby alleyway. "Hey," Sam called after her. The young woman did not stop, but merely slowed her pace and glanced over her shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"Sorry chica I've got to cut this short," she shouted back. "But _they _are coming. And if I were you I'd start running."

"Who the heck are _they_?"

The young woman shook her head. "Goodbye Sammy."

"Don't…" But it was too late she was already gone. "—call me Sammy," Sam muttered. He stared after her, both confused and fearful. Who were they? That question was one he had asked at least three times now, from different people, and he had still not received an answer. But questions aside, whoever _they_ were they were coming…now. Sam's body became rigid. He couldn't move. At first he had thought that something supernatural had to be blame for his sudden lack of movement, but now he understood that the reason was fear. Fear was keeping him rooted on the spot, and it was preventing him from running away. Sam frowned. He never ran away from a fight before, not really. After all whoever this big bad _they _were he was certain that he and Dean could handle them. But first he had to find Dean. Sam had managed to run into two complete strangers; one crazy and the other just weird and scary. And not to mention an insane ex-sorcerer who was Sam's only way to fix the 'huge' mess he has made. After all his strange encounters with strange people Sam had still not found his brother, or even had any clue as to if Dean was still alive. _Where are you Dean? _Sam wondered.

Still frozen on the spot, eyes wide with panic and his insides taken over by anxiety, Sam listened carefully. The sound of even crickets made his organs do summersaults. He listened, and did not move. His right hand was still in his pocket, gripping tightly onto the knife's handle. Sam could feel cold sweat stick to his skin. He could feel every muscle in his body twitch and throb. And he could feel every bone in his body become instantly brittle. The young man kept his eyes peeled for someone or something. At this point he didn't know what to expect.

His heart was beating rapidly, and his senses fully sharpened. He could hear footsteps—more like an army marching. And they were coming his way. They were coming for him.

* * *

He wanted to run. He wanted to hide. And he wanted to throw up. But he couldn't manage to do either. His head hurt, along with every other bone, organ and muscle in his body. Sam groaned softly. He wanted this nightmare to end. If it were possible he would put on a pair of embarrassing red sparkling high heels, tap his heels together along with the chant "there's no place like home" repeated over and over again. But that was just dumb, and not to mention impossible.

They were here.

Sam darted across the road and towards the twin dumpster the pair of homeless men had been raiding only hours ago. He crouched behind it, nose crinkled and eyes wide. He watched closely, eyes peeled and hearing sharp. He now saw a group of people, some old and some young. Most of them looked no older than forty and no younger than twenty. He was too far away to see their faces, but Sam knew that that hardly mattered. Judging from their size, height and age he didn't recognize anyone he might know. Sam wasn't one for judging someone too heavily on appearance and first impressions but in this case he would make an expectation; these people were evil…there was no doubt about it. His eyes moved swiftly from the sharp and dangerous looking weapons carried by some of them, to the angered scowls upon each of their faces. And finally his eyes found and widened even further when he found their face—their eyes. Each of the thirteen possessed entirely deadened and black eyes. He wasn't surprised by this, knowing that these people made it easier for him. _At least now if I accidentally waste one of them while fighting for my life I won't feel too guilty about it. _

Sam gasped, not because of the demons but because of what one of them doing. One of the demons; a tall, willowy young woman with long messy black hair was holding a long chain: a leash. On the end of that leash was a human. Sam felt completely sickened by the sight. He was starting to think twice about the not being able to throw up thing. He watched the leash carrying demon's facial expression. She looked delighted, and that was what sickened him the most. She enjoyed what she was doing. _What a bitch. _

The leash carrying demon sneered down at the human she had on a leash. Sam looked down at the middle aged man, who was tethered by a leash that was attached to a collar, with sympathy. It broke Sam's heart, and his soul to see someone treated like that. It was sick and it was wrong. The middle aged man looked depressed, not scared. Dried blood stained the man's unwashed skin, his hair was overgrown and mattered, and his eyes were wild and crazy. The man did not fight back, but instead just lay there on the ground, motionless and waiting for his "masters" next command. And that was what made Sam the most disgusted. The humans didn't fight back. It was almost as if no one cared, discounting the demons that didn't even have a soul. But these humans were actually allowing the demons to get away what they were doing.

Sam didn't even need to think twice about backing away. He needed to fix this, because this was not the world that he had expected to come back to. This was not his world. This was hell. It had to be. He slowly stood, and then slowly backed away. He thought he was shifting and fighting his way through the endless amounts of garbage and even human corpses quietly, but he had been mistaken…

CRASH!

Sam paused, frozen. He turned slowly around only to see thirteen pairs of identical black eyes staring in his direction, staring at him.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry this chapter took awhile, but it's a _long _one and I wanted to make it perfect. This one's one of favorites so far. It contains a bit of hurt!Sam for those of who are fans of that stuff. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

Sam stood, frozen in mid step, in the darkened alleyway. Despite the angst and terror he was feeling on the inside he did not allow himself to shake. He could not show fear, even if it was entirely fear that he was feeling. His eyes never left the demons. And there eyes never left his. If it were possible, it seemed that the demon's cruel blackened eyes were burning holes into his skull. Sam had never felt more afraid in his life. He was outnumbered, and cornered. He was like the mouse that had just been spotted by the cat, and stood immobile waiting for the predator to pounce.

The palms of his hands were sticky with cold sweat. His fingers began to slip down the handle of the kitchen knife he had kept in his pocket. He knew it would hardly do much good against a demon. _But hey at least I have a weapon, _Sam sarcastically thought to himself. Knife or no knife it didn't really make much difference; he was still going to lose. There were at least thirteen demons, all who were extremely strong, skill, and each shared the lust for murder and destruction, and then there was only one of him.

Sam Winchester was as good as dead.

He began to slowly step out of the darkened alleyway. His eyes lightly burned from the sun's heavy rays, but he ignored the pain. Sam could see the demons, now. He had been wrong there weren't thirteen, but ten or eleven if you were to count to leashed human. That narrowed the odds, but not by much. Sam stopped walking when he was a good several meter distance from the demons. There eyes never left him, however Sam's eyes kept glancing from one demon's face to the next and then to the pained expression upon the leashed human's features. Sam felt strong pangs of sympathy for the middle aged man. No one should endure that kind of cruelty…even from demons. It was sickening and biased.

After a few seconds of attempting to put a decent get-a-away plan together, Sam gave up. He would have to fight them, because there was no other way. He was going to die; that part he knew. He wasn't comfortable with the thought of dying, but he wasn't really seeing any other options. Sam hoped that somehow someone would come, or he could at least find a better weapon than the pitiful kitchen knife he had snatched from Frank's home. But there wasn't anyone coming; no one was around. And Sam highly doubted he would see a shaker of salt or a rod made from iron just lying around.

He no longer wondered why the demons were stalling, because his question had been silently answered. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his stance. He watched nervously and fearfully as at least several large vans skidded into view. _I should have just run away when I had the chance, _Sam thought, irritated with his senselessness. More people, younger and older than him, leaped out of the vans; their eyes too were entirely black—more demons. At least three or four demons emerged from each van, and now there were too many to count by sight. Sam gulped. If he had thought he was screwed before he was defiantly now. Sam could have counted seventeen perhaps nineteen demons in his head, but each time he tried to think about the outrageous numbers he would be interrupted by his own nauseous stomach.

_I'm so screwed, _Sam thought. But he was not giving up yet. Sam figured he would be better off dead than waving a little white flag which would only end in his death anyway. He could fight two maybe three of them and then try to make a break for it. Though Sam was still unclear as to how he would divert the demons attention away from him. All he would need, to make a brisk getaway, was a minute perhaps less. _I'll just have to make it up as I go along. _

_What the hell are they waiting for? _Sam wondered. His eyes flickered from one smug-faced demon to the next. They just stood before him, lined up. It was as if they were waiting for an order. Sam gulped that notion didn't sound too comforting. If he attempted an escape would they follow? Would they attack then? _There's_ _only one way to find out. _Sam made a break for it. Heart pounding heatedly against his chest, and breath rapid, and limps searing and aching, Sam ran down the footpath. He wasn't quite sure if the demons were following him. He couldn't anything besides the sound of the loud rushing wind in his ears. And he wasn't going to look over his shoulder, either, as that would only slow his pace. Despite the noticeably dreadful situation he was in, Sam had never felt freer. The last few days had been an utter nightmare, and the few before that. The last month leading up to Dean's death had been nothing but stressful and emotional. It felt great for Sam to be able to feel the cool breeze whip his face, to stretch his legs, and the prospect that Dean was most likely alive. At that moment Sam didn't really even care if the world had changed due to the time travel. So what? What was the worst that could have happened? A couple of demons running loose around the town were nothing that Sam and his older brother couldn't manage. _As long as Dean is alive nothing else matters. _

Sam's bout of freedom was cut short. He came to sudden halt when he saw a group of demons ahead. They were same group; each had there arms crossed firmly against their chests, including the leash handling demon who's eyes were a ablaze with fury and spite. _Oops shouldn't have pissed them off. _

"Now that was really stupid," leash handling demon said, her eyes glared fiercely at him. She sighed, and then moved the few strands of her mattered black hair out of her eyes. "Tut tut, when will you humans ever learn?"

"Learn what?" Sam asked frostily.

The female demon sneered, "Your place in this world."

"And what a glorious world this has become," another demon, this one a short bald man carrying a deadly looking battleaxe, added.

"Yes, Delano it has become quite a world," the female demon agreed. She handed the demon Delano the leash, her eyes never left Sam once. "You stay," she ordered, tearing her eyes away to glance at the other demons. "I'll take care of this problem."

"Are you sure, because…" one of the other demons began but was briskly cut off by the female demon.

"I'd shut up before you question my orders, Ada" the female demon retorted, teeth gritted.

The demon, a young and pretty Asian with shoulder length black hair, Ada closed her mouth and said nothing else. She stepped away from the other female demon, visibly threatened by her. When the female demon turned her back on the rest of the demonically possessed group, Ada scowled.

"I suppose chivalry is dead after all," Sam scoffed.

"I'd shut your mouth if I were you." The female demon snarled. "You are in no position to talk."

Sam's brows furrowed. "In what kind of f'ed up world does that make sense?" he asked.

The corners of the female demon's lips widened. She grinned with intent. "What have you been living under rock?" she asked sarcastically. "This world is no longer yours, human. You humans bow down before us, and we demons have full rein. That is the world we live in now."

"Since when?" The sarcasm in his tone of voice had vanished; instead it was replaced with graveness. Perhaps the 'tiny' mistake he had made had been larger and more life changing than he first thought. Brows still knitted, Sam wondered what he could have possibly done to screw the world up this much. Perhaps the world hadn't changed. Maybe what the demon had just told him had been a complete. Sam swore under his breath. He hated demons; the little corrupt bastards never seemed to stop lying.

"You're lying," Sam said.

The female demon laughed softly. "It would be a bitch if I was. Honestly this world is better now. I can't understand why you humans don't see that…oh wait yes I can." "Enough talking, okay? You're dim-witted questions and comments are starting to give me a smarting migraine."

Sam's eyes widened. She was going to kill him. He had hoped that by stalling her with questions that he might be able to avoid fighting, until someone else was to show up. But now Sam had come to the realization that no one was coming. If the demon had been telling the truth, and Sam had the terrible feeling that she had been, then he seriously doubted that anyone could help him. He needed to find Dean. He needed help.

Sam swiftly dodged out of the way when the female demon lunged forward. She was quick, but he was quicker. The other demons just stood there, mindlessly watching as their 'gang leader' had all the fun. Sam had the feeling that they wanted to get involved but were too afraid to not do as asked. _Cowards, _Sam thought to himself. But he wasn't exactly complaining. He was glad he wasn't going to have to take on around seventeen demons alone and single handed.

Sam began to move. He ignored the knife in his pocket; as it wouldn't do him much use against a demon anyway. If he were forced to, in the end, he may use the blade to pin her to the ground by her shirt and make a break for it. But that was only an option if he survived her attacks. The female demon lunged for him again, and this time Sam hadn't been concentrating. She sent a heavy blow to his chest, shattering ribs. Sam staggered backwards. He gingerly rubbed his now agonizing ribs. The demon hadn't let those few seconds of hesitation go to waste. She attacked him again this time by sending a roundhouse kick to his mid section.

Still softly groaning in agony, Sam dodged another blow. He had tried to throw a punch aimed for the side of her face, but the demon had seen it coming, and she had blocked it. She was too strong. He couldn't win. Hell he couldn't even come within a few inches without receiving another hard kick or punch to another one of his aching bones. Sam winced. He tried to move away from her, but she wouldn't let him go. The demon sent him flying backwards. Sam groaned when he felt his back made contact with the hard and cold concrete. He felt warm blood trickle from numerous deep cuts on his face and arms, but he ignored them. The blood would dry and the wounds would eventually heal.

As Sam slowly and painfully began to get back on two feet again, he heard the female demon let out a soft chuckle. "Is that all you've got?" she laughed. "Aww don't feel bad," she added, noticing the pained expression on Sam's face. "It's not just you humans, but most demons couldn't even win a fight against me." She kicked hard at Sam's limps, sending him crashing to the ground once again. "I'm just the best at what I do."

"What's that walking humans?" Sam asked through a mouthful of blood. He gestured towards the human on the leash; who he just noticed had collapsed. "It's seriously sick. You know that right?"

The female demon scowled. "You just can't seem to shut…"

"Kill them!" One of the demons screamed.

That woke Sam up. _Kill who? _

The female demon tore her attention away from and began then making her way towards the rest. Ignoring the smarting pains in what seemed to be every part that was connected to his bruised and badly beaten body, Sam briskly stood. His vision became cloudy for a few seconds, and his head felt dazed and dizzy, but Sam was forced to ignore it. There was nothing he could do anyway. The pain would soon disappear, as would the bruises and cuts. He was bleeding, but wasn't as severe as it felt. Sam wasn't dying, nor would he would he allow himself to be killed by some seriously strong yet awfully self-absorbed demon.

Swiftly, Sam made his way over toward the crowd of demons. They were attacking someone or more so a group of people that Sam could not see. He tried to push past the possessed mob but he received a strong wallop to the ribs. Bones cracked, but Sam didn't nothing more than wince silently. Sam edged around the demons. He tried to get a better look at those who had just arrived. When Sam caught a glimpse at one of the newbie's face he let out a soft sigh of relief. He had been greeted with warm brown eyes as apposed to the entirely black eyes. The new arrivals were humans.

They were here to help him.

Managing to successfully push his way through the fighting crowed, Sam's eyes caught sight of the long black haired demon that had been beating him before. She was currently in a hand-to-hand combat with a young man; who's facial features Sam did not recognize. "No," Sam breathed. It happened in a heart beat; the young man's neck had been snapped. Sam watched uselessly as the young man crashed to the floor. When Sam's eyes finally left the newly diseased young man, he saw the female demon give him a broad grin that caused him to shift uncomfortably in his stance.

The female demon kept grinning. "It's time to finish what we started, human. I'm going to make you…" "Argggh!"

Sam stepped back. The demon's shriek had startled him, but not as much as the crossbow bolt that had just missed him by centimeters. He had felt the arrow brush faced his skin, and now it was painfully pierced in the female demon's chest; where her heart would have been. She did little more than moan. An arrow to the heart wouldn't kill a demon, but it would hurt like hell.

"You," the demon spat. She was doubled over with pain, her long ebony black hair hung like a curtain over her graceful features.

For a moment Sam had thought that the demon had been referring to him, but her glittering black eyes had been focused on someone else—someone was standing behind him, and that someone had fired the crossbow.

"Howdy, Ivy," a man's voice said, darkly.

Heart pounding fiercely, Sam slowly turned around. The voice had sounded so familiar. _But it can't be. _Once fully turned away from the female demon; whose name Sam now knew as Ivy, his jaw was forced to drop. Sam froze, staring at the newcomer, not breathing. Joy and relief clashed with him when he recognized the man.

"Dean," Sam whispered, his eyes began to flood with tears. "Oh my God. Dean."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: **HAPPY EASTER ALL! **Ican't exactly give you chocolate, but I can give you another update…an awesome one (I hope). Nah it's just like all the others; I just tried to hype it to make up for the week delay. Damn I feel so sloppy lately. It's been hard to update as regualry as I used to because my wireless internet has been acting up. I know what you're thinking '_excuses excuses woman'. _Anyway I was hoping to give you two chapters but I haven't finish the next one, it's like half done and not edited yet so it would have taken an extra day for that. But it will be up tomorrow…because like I said half way. Okay so Happy Easter, don't get sick from too much chocolate, and I hope you enjoy this update (this one's especially for Dean Fans, and those who love a hint of action and plenty of angst.) Alright I better go because it's late, and I have some serious exercise to do.

* * *

**CHAPTER 12**

Heart hammering, eyes streaming, Sam stared at his older brother; jaw dropped. _He's alive, _Sam thought to himself. A wave of joy rushed over him. Much to his relief Dean's physical appearance didn't look different, save a nasty looking scar on his neck which appeared to Sam to be a bite marks from a vampire. And his older brother's hair was slightly longer, though still above shoulder length, though no longer was it spiky. His hair was matted, and appeared as if it had not been washed for a several months at least. _Doesn't anyone around here ever get a decent haircut? _Sam wondered, glancing at Ivy who's own tangled hair was long, though much longer than Dean's. Dean didn't say anything in response, nor did he even glance at his younger brother. The only thing he seemed to be concerned about was the demon Ivy. His older brother glared at the demon with both spitefulness and revulsion.

"Dean?" Sam softly said. He stared tearfully at his older brother; who had, up until this point, not uttered a single word to his younger brother.

Dean's odd silence caused Sam's brow to crease. The older Winchester kept his mouth shut, and eyes focused loathsomely at the demon ahead. _What's wrong with him? _Sam wondered. _There's nothing wrong with him_, Sam told himself gravely. _He just doesn't like demons. It has nothing to do with me. _But Dean continued to ignore Sam. He acted as though the younger Winchester was invisible, and the only thing in his path was Ivy. Dean's stillness startled Sam, even crushed him slightly. But he kept silently reminding himself that whatever issue Dean had was with this demon and not with him. _He cannot be mad at me; I've done nothing wrong. _

"Dean Winchester," Ivy said with a slight hiss in her tone of voice. She gazed at Dean; though unlike the older Winchester her stare was not filled with spite but thrill and delight. Sam knew that the delight she was feeling was not the same he had felt when he had first Dean. Ivy eyed Dean, she licked her lips hungrily. Her black eyes had flickered back to a hazel green. The corners of her crimson maw were curved into an unsettling and malicious smirk. "It's such a pleasure to see you again."

Dean smirked back. "Sorry Ivy, I can't say I feel the same way," Dean frostily retorted. His eyes flashed dangerously. Sam shifted uneasily in his stance. "Are we going to sit all day and chat or are we actually going to fight?"

Ivy continued to grin broadly. "I never thought of you as the suicidal type Dean."

The Dean that Sam remembered would have replied to Ivy's comment with a smart-ass almost cocky remark, but instead the Dean standing beside Sam kept his mouth firmly shut. There was a confidence about the way the older Winchester stared at the demon. The colt was not clutched in his hands, nor was any other weapon, but Dean seemed confident that he would be the one walking away alive. Sam shivered; perhaps due to Dean's coldness, or the unnerving silence that stood between Sam, his older brother and a demon.

"You want a fight?" Ivy stepped closer. An arrogant expression crossed her once striking features. She blinked. Once her eyes snapped open again the iris had changed from a normal hazel green to that same deadened black that almost every demon possessed. "I'll give you a fight. How 'bout I call it an early birthday present?"

"Fine by me, bitch," Dean, through clenched teeth, replied.

Ivy grimaced. She moved herself into a fighting stance. She waited fists ready for Dean to make the first move. Sam frowned, irritated at Ivy. Demons were naturally strong, but this Ivy chick seemed to be stronger than most. _And far more skilled, _Sam silently added. His hand moved toward his left ribs; which were still causing him a searing pain. He didn't want Dean to fight her, because Sam knew that his older brother would lose. Sam didn't know how he could cope if he was to witness his brother die again. It would tear the younger Winchester to shreds inside, it would break his heart all over again—it would kill him.

Just as Ivy had wanted; Dean made the first move. He lunged for her, pulling a sharpened blade from his leather jacket that reminded Sam of the demon-killing-knife he had seen Ruby use on several occasions. Was it the same one? Was Ruby around here? Sam glanced briskly around. His eyes panned from the numerous demonically possessed to the other humans, the two dozen that had arrived with Dean, who were battling it out against the demons. Some used battleaxes, crossbows, knives, and guns…and then there were those brave few that fought with only two fists as their main weapon of choice.

Sam watched as Dean snapped a kick at Ivy's chest. The demon recoiled, slightly. She stumbled backwards, though only for a few seconds. She glared at him fiercely. Solemn faced, Dean threw a cleverly aimed blow which would have fractured Ivy's jaw bone—if she were human. The demon swiftly avoided the older Winchester's punch by darted out of the way. She laughed coldly. "Is that all you've got?" She sneered. Sam's eyes began to flood with tears, once again, when he witnessed Ivy strike his older brother painfully in the shoulder. She wasn't done, the demon kicked Dean hard in the chest; knocking the wind out of the young man.

Dean crashed to the ground, moaning in the pain. "Dean?" Sam breathed. Without thinking, he moved briskly toward his brother. Sam knelt beside his brother. "Are you okay?" he tearfully asked.

"Get away from me!" Dean snapped. With his good arm he pushed Sam way. He never even so much as glanced at his brother when he did so.

Sam frowned. "What the hell's wrong with you!?" Sam shouted.

Dean kept a stern face. He slowly stood up. He turned his back on Sam. "Keep out of my way."

Dazed, Sam lifted himself back onto two feet. He rubbed his arm. The physical pain wasn't too bad, but the emotional pain hurt him like hell. Sam stared after Dean, his brow furrowed. _What just happened?_

"Dean?" Sam called out.

Dean ignored him. He returned back the fight between him at the demon Ivy; who still had the upper hand.

"DEAN!"

Ivy glanced at Sam. The corners of her lips spread into an unnerving smile. He felt a cold shiver pass through him. "I'm so sorry to cut this short," she said, turning her black eyes back on Dean. "But there's so little time, so many humans to devour." With one final glance at Sam, Ivy disappeared.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed. He kicked hard at a fallen metal trash can. Despite the pain Sam knew his brother was in, the older Winchester did not cringe once. He made his way briskly towards Sam. His eyes glared dangerously, and his teeth and fists were clenched.

"You made her run," Dean said, pointing at Sam. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to track that bitch down? Do you have any clue how long it's going to take me to find her now? Because of you, your kind, more innocent people have to suffer."

"Dean?" He had no idea what his brother was taking about, or why Dean was talking to him as if he were the enemy.

Dean shook his head. He had looked furious before, but now he looked just down right freighting. "Stop saying my name. Stop talking to me as if you know me."

"I'm your brother," Sam retorted. He could feel his temper beginning to rise.

Once again, Dean shook his head. "You're my brother?" he repeated in disbelief. "I have no brother. The only brother I ever had is now dead."

Sam shook his head. "No, no. Dean I'm not dead. Honestly if I were dead than how do you explain me standing before you, in corporal form for that matter?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. You're either a shape-shifter, a demon possessing his corpse, or some lame trick that son of bitch has thrown at me this time. Either way you're working for him." Dean moved forward, and struck Sam hard in the side of the face. "I'll let you live, for now. But no matter how much you may look him, you ain't Sam." "Oh, and you can tell your little master that we're done waiting….we're bringing the fight to him."

Sam watched, tearfully, Dean turn his back on him once again. He watched him walk away, along with the rest of the Calvary that had arrived with him earlier. Sam tried calling out to him over a dozen times, but after the first his voice became weaker and weaker. Tears stained his skin once again; they seared. He watched as the van, containing Dean and the other hunters, speed away.

Sam did not have much time left to ponder any more on Dean's strange behavior because he was once again been targeted; this time by a male demon who was very much on the hefty side, had a pasty complexion and wore black thick rimmed glasses. He reminded Sam of his ninth grade science teacher; except this guy had hair. It sneered, and the bared it's yellowing teeth. Sam didn't feel threatened by pastyface however he did feel a flicker of terror pass through him when he noticed Ivy. She walked toward him. A confident a cocky smile passed her perfect features.

"So sad," she mocked. Ivy stopped walking when she was only meters away from Sam. "I thought Deanie had come for you, but turns out they don't want you."

"Shut up," Sam snapped. He glared at her fiercely. Whatever fear he had been feeling had now turned to hate. He stared at Ivy with the same hate and spite filled expression that Dean had done when he had first showed up.

"Ooh sassy," Ivy scoffed. She moved closer. "I like you." She moved closer, brushed her face against Sam's, and leaned toward his ear. "But I couldn't help but notice not everyone feels the same way. What was that your brother was saying; you're supposed to be dead? Well, Sam, you look pretty healthy to me."

Sam scowled. "That's what I tried…" be he cut himself off. Instead he returned to staring at the demon loathsomely. "You know nothing about me or my brother."

"Oh, now that is where you are wrong," Ivy said. "I know plenty about Dean, and you."

"Is that right?" Sam raised an eyebrow. He folded his arms firmly against his chest. "And how did you happen to know all this information, about me in particular. You see I've never met you before in my life. And to be honest I really wish it would have stayed that way. You're a demon, and you're poison; that's all I know about you. So tell me, how come I know near nothing about you but you know crap about me?"

Ivy continued grinning. "Sorry Sammy but a magician never reveals her tricks."

"I'm sure," he replied dryly. Sam glanced from Ivy, pastyface, and the other dozen demons that were left were now staring at him, and to the several vans that surrounded him. He needed to escape. The numbers may have diminished but there were still too many demons were him to take on single handed. Besides them there was Ivy who seemed to be far wiser, skilled, trained, and not to mention stronger. _Not that higher wisdom is too much of a challenge, _Sam thought while looking around at the numerous befuddled and dim expressions that seemed to be plastered on the majority of the demon's features.

"Now, you've got yourself two choices here." Ivy stepped away from him. Still sneering she looked from the other demons and then back to the young man. "We can do this the hard way, but then you saw what happened last time when you rough housed." She gestured towards Sam's beaten up face, numerous cuts, and emerging bruises. "Or you can go quietly. Though I can't exactly promise you won't receive more mortal wounds. My friends, here, tend to get rather excited when it comes to new prisoners."

"Yeah I'll bet," Sam muttered. He was certain that Ivy hadn't heard him; as she didn't respond with anything snide or physical.

"Either way, Sam, you're coming with us."

Sam sighed. "I don't think so Ivy. Thanks for the ride, though."

Ivy, pastyface and the other demons looked confused. Without hesitation, Sam darted swiftly toward pastyface. With a single, fluid motion, Sam kicked hard at the demon's chest; successfully catching him off guard, and knocking the wind out of him as an added bonus. Pastyface glared at Sam. The demon pulled a handgun from his jacket pocket, chocked it, and aimed it for Sam's chest. But Sam was still in motion, however, and the bullet whistled passed his cheek, so close that he could practically feel the air pressure press against his bruised skin.

Sam made his way, swiftly, towards one of the vans several of the demons had arrived in. He glanced briskly over his shoulder. He had thought that demons would be following him, perhaps trying to stop him from escaping or at least trying to shoot him. But they weren't. Something or more so someone, was stopping them from attacking—Ivy. He glanced at Ivy, surprised and shocked. He knew she wasn't restraining them from fighting for his own benefit; just as she had said before she had tricks up her sleeve. Sam gulped. The thought didn't settle well with him.

"Don't follow," he heard Ivy order. "He's not that much of a threat we need to focus on the others."

_The others? _Sam curiously repeated in his head. What did she mean by 'the others'? Was she referring to Dean by any chance? Sam didn't threat about the question for much longer as it didn't hold too much importance with him, for now. Grim faced, he thrust open the van's door and slid into the driver's seat. He placed his shaking, sweaty and still bloody hands on the steering wheel. He stared, and even caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror.

Alarm and distress ran through him.

Just like Dean; his physical appearance had changed too. The illusion of how he used to look faded. The expression on his face became stern. He saw what he truly looked like now, and it terrified him. His usual clear and olive-skinned complexion was near covered in dirt, dried blood, cuts and bruises. His jaw had hardened, and his hair was mattered and oily; though still practically the same length as it had been before. But his eyes; the deadened, fierce and dangerous gleam in his eyes was what terrified him the most.

_What the hell has happened to me? _Sam wondered. His entire body shook with fear. Finally, he forced himself to tear his eyes away from the mirror. He couldn't stand it any longer. _What has happened to rest of the world?_ Just then a shiver ran through Sam, chilled his blood, and crept up his spine. He remembered when Dean had pushed him, stared at Sam as if he were nothing more than another demon that needed to be wasted. The grim and hate filled expression that his own brother had given him had terrified Sam, but not as much as the words Dean had uttered. _"You're not Sam. My brother is dead."_

Sam closed his eyes. _I have to find Ruby, _he told himself. _I need her help. I need to fix this._


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

"_The only brother I ever had is now dead."_

These cold words echoed in Sam's mind. He tried to erase the scowl Dean had worn when he had looked at Sam from his mind. Several fresh tears sprang from his eyes, but Sam did not bother to wipe them away this time. Instead he left them be; to stain his cheeks, and eventually seep into his flesh. His limbs were numb and sore from walking. He had abandoned the van; the one he had stolen from the demons, in a deserted parking lot. He had figured if someone, more so something, was following him he would be much less noticeable on foot than a van that had once belonged to the enemy. Sam couldn't overcome the sadness and irritation he felt toward his brother. At first Sam had been confused. He had asked himself how Dean could think he was dead. But then he had reminded himself that this was a different world. Changing the outcome of the past had changed more than Sam had hoped. And if the rest of the world had changed; the people and the towns, then perhaps in _this world _he really was dead. Sam shook his head. He felt furious with himself for meddling with time. He should have listened to Ruby. He should have found another way. Sam should have known it was all too good to be true. The only part that bothered Sam was that Ruby had warned him; told him that it was not only foolish but dangerous, _and man had she been right, _but when asked Frank had not even said a word. The sorcerer had not flinched at the idea like Ruby had. In fact Sam remembered noticing the old man's face light up when he and Ruby had mentioned time traveling. At first Sam had just thought the guy had been nuts, but now, he wasn't quite sure what to think. Perhaps Frank had set him up. What if the sorcerer had known this would happen? _That's impossible, _Sam told himself sternly. _How could he have possibly known? The man's a sorcerer not a physic. _

Sam placed the thought of Frank setting him up out of his mind, and instead carried on distressing over Dean's startling attitude and comments. If it weren't for that demon Ivy and her dumb-witted demonic crew he would have chased after Dean. He hated the hate filled expression Dean had given. Most of all Sam despised knowing that his brother thought he was a demon, a shape shifter—in other words the enemy. He closed his eyes for a few moments. He was irritated with himself for not chasing after his brother, but then he had reminded himself that Dean would have most likely killed him. Sam needed to approach Dean in another way. He had to try and convince the guy that he was alive, and not evil. But one question still existed: _where do I find him? _Sam had no idea where he lived now, or if he lived anywhere for that matter. Dean had never been one to settle. Sam remembered that his brother had always proffered the road and the Impala. Perhaps that's where he would start; he would try and find the Impala—and in no world—not even a one ruled by demons—would Dean give up his beloved car. _How difficult can that be, _Sam thought to himself, _it's not as if the Impala's a very common vehicle these days. _

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched into a small smile. He felt more eased, though still slightly worried, but never less more relaxed than he had been. At least he knew that Dean would still have the Impala, hopefully, and he was located somewhere in town. He figured that he ought to check out local motels, the ones that had survived the chaos, and start from there. Now the only difficult part left was trying to think up a way of approaching his brother without receiving a bullet wound to the heart, skull or any other body part for that matter. He just had to convince Dean that he was human, and defiantly not evil. _Well that can't be too difficult, _Sam thought; half sarcastic half serious.

The further along Sam walked the more he wished he had just stayed back with the demons and spared his eyes from the grisly sight he was forced to now see. He was forced to cover his mouth and nose with one hand so that he wouldn't have to breathe in the biting reek of charred wood and flesh. Though every minute he had to take a deep breath in, and every time he coughed and choked on the air. He took a right turn, and then another few lefts, and emerged into a large and grisly looking neighborhood. Sam kept his mouth covered; this time was to prevent himself form vomiting. He would have covered his eyes, but he needed to see where he was going—unfortunately. He couldn't see any houses; due to large, rusting iron gates and substantial amount of deadened bush that hid the residences from view. Just from looking at the large size of gates Sam would have guessed that the houses themselves would have been mansions; some as large as one would expect a successful celebrity to live in. But what would have been a rather glamorous and exceedingly prosperous neighborhood had turned into what looked like a graveyard; only this one sporting rotting corpses that were not buried six feet under. If Sam wouldn't have known any better than he would have guessed that this entire town, especially this neighborhood, had been hit by a massive bomb. Everything was dead, rotting, scorched, and smelled strongly of decaying corpses.

His eyes began to sting. His limbs were aching. And despite his wanting not to he carried on walking through the grotesque neighborhood. Sam walked at brisk pace. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place immediately, and he knew in whatever reality he wouldn't find his brother residing in a place like this. He was seconds away from turning around to make his way back to the town when something caught his eye. He froze in his tracks, and stared wide eyed at the sight he saw laying before him. There on the dry, cracked and speckled with blood road was a small corpse. A petite red-haired girl no older than five or six lay curled on the road, dead. Her bright green eyes were frozen, wide, and looked terrified. Blood soaked the little girl's dress, and clutched in her blood and blistered hands was a battered teddy bear. Sickened, upset, Sam swiftly turned away. Whatever could kill an innocent child was evil, disturbed; a demon.

Much to his dismay the deceased girl would have been fresh. He knew this because the more he looked around the more remains of the neighborhoods residents he found; some fresh, though most so decayed or scorched that there was no way to tell exactly how they had died. Sam could only assume that demons had killed them. Who else, but a foul creature with no soul, could slaughter the elderly and children with such ease?

Every time Sam closed his eyes the image of a child's lifeless body would appear in his mind. He hated it; knowing the pain these people must have endured. What was worse was knowing, that compared to those humans tethered to leashes, these people were lucky. Demons sickened him, and Sam knew that the image of the cherry haired girl clutching her bear would remain with him for the rest of the night.

* * *

_What the hell was I thinking? _Dean thought. Using his signature leather jacket he wiped the tears from his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried. He wasn't even sure he really _had _cried in his life. Sure he had shed a few tears here and there, but now they used seemed to stream down his face. Seeing Sam—well a creature that had made itself look like his little brother—had shaken him. When Dean had first seen his brother's face staring back at him he hadn't known what to think. Of course he had been angry; irritated that the creature would take the form of his brother. But he had also been saddened. He knew whatever had stood before him and talked to him had not been his younger brother. Sam was dead.

Dean allowed his fingers to curl firmly around the steering wheel of the Impala. Three years ago his expression would light up when he saw his car, but now it just remained grave. Nothing gave him pleasure anymore. He wondered why he had kept the car. It wasn't as though he drove it that often. Not only that but it was a constant reminder of his father and Sam; the two people he had cared so much for. Dean kept his face stern. Sam and their father had never had too much in common, but thing was for sure the two of them were both murdered by demons. Of course he had never actually seen Sam's body. His younger brother had gone missing four years ago; the night the devil's gate was opened. Dean remembered Sam being kidnapped right after the young man had shot Jake in the skull. The Yellow-Eyed-Demon had taken him, but not before snapping Ellen's neck.

Dean's face hardened. He remembered the stunned expression that had spread across Ellen's features, and the fear that had filled her eyes right before they had gone dark. Dean closed his eyes. He hated thinking about it, because he could have done something; tried to stop the demon, but instead he had just stood their hopelessly. Dean had never been able to forgive himself for what had happened that night, and he doubted that he ever would.

There had been numerous losses that night; Ellen and Jake's death, and Sam's disappearance. Four years his brother had been missing for. For two years Dean had done nothing but search. He had gone everywhere, but he had never been able to find Sam. Dean had sworn to himself that he would never give up on Sam, but two years ago a demon—whom Dean had been torturing for information on Sam's whereabouts—had let slip that his younger brother was dead. Of course he hadn't believed the evil son of a bitch, but there had been more slip ups made from other demons and those who served them. Eventually Dean had given up hope. He was still searching for Sam, but for his brother's corpse rather than Sam himself.

Dean took his hands off the steering wheel, got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him. He moved briskly toward the truck. He stealthily lifted the bonnet and was greeted with numerous weapons and amulets of all shapes, sizes, colours and durability. Dean stared at it. His collection of arsenal had grown over the past four years. The only thing missing was the colt; the infamous demon killing gun that could kill anything. The Yellow-Eyed-Demon had taken it; plied it from his father's cold dead hands five years ago. Dean gritted his teeth. He wanted that gun back but it wasn't as if he were going to waltz in a take it. He wasn't, and had never been, that stupid.

After retrieving a handgun, Dean slammed the truck shut. He leaned against the car. He ran his fingers gingerly along the gun's pearl handle. Whatever was out there, wearing Sam's face, he would damn sure he tracked it down and ended it.

* * *

The world belonged to the darkness now; at least that is what Sam has gathered so far. He didn't know much about what had happened to the world; why it was overrun with demons and such. All he had was one demon's snide comment, and the much rambling from a couple of crazy people. But the state of the town, its shops, houses and everything else told him that something awful had gone down. The world was different, and clearly it had something to do with a mistake Sam made while traveling back in time. It didn't take the world's greatest genius to work that out. _But what mistake was that? _Sam silently asked himself. Of course traveling back or forward in time always ends badly, but he must have done something along the way to cause outcomes this catastrophic.

He needed answers.

Sam had never been to hell, but Meg had. The demon Meg had possessed him a year ago after crawling her way out of hell. Sam remembered feeling what she felt when she had mentioned hell to Dean. _"It's a prison made of bone, flesh and fear." _Sam shivered. Even though he had only been roaming around one town for several hours what he had witnessed was what one would expect hell to be. It had become a prison. Humans were imprisoned; either shackled or contained. The roads were littered with decomposing corpses, and the pathways, windows, houses and shops were splattered with blood. Sam had already stepped in a puddle of fresh blood. It had soaked into his jeans, and he doubted that the stain would ever come out. He wasn't particularly vain about his appearance and the way he dressed. Sure he liked to look presentable, unlike Dean who would just throw on anything. But having someone else's blood on him scared Sam.

The sun was beginning to set, and Sam knew that whatever hell this world had become it was only going to get worse when the sun went down. He didn't know for sure but that kind of stuff always happened. Monster come out to play at night; demons tended to buy into their own stereotypes these days. As it got darker Sam noticed more people. He was unsure whether or not they were actually humans possessed, but he hardly wanted to get closer for a better look at their black eyes. No, things were better off, for him, if he stayed far away from anyone. The only person he could trust was Dean—even if the guy did think he was a malicious shape shifter or corpse possessing demon. Sam had find somewhere to settle for the night; somewhere that was not on verge of collapsing, and somewhere preferably hidden. When morning came he would try and find Dean. Correction he _would _find his brother.

"I've got to get out of here," Sam whispered. Almost as if on cue, the sound of distant engine came to him. "Thank God," he muttered. But he wasn't going to count his chickens before they hatched. Sam crouched. Perfectly in shadow, he watched the street intently. He glanced up and down the street; waiting for the vehicle to come into view. Hopefully, if it weren't crowed with demons, he could ambush the driver and take the vehicle. It wasn't exactly the smartest plan he had ever come up with, but it was a plan never less. If the vehicle did happen to be driven by a dozen crazy, human walking, demons then he would have to keep in hiding.

After several minutes of waiting, Sam saw a blue black van speeding towards him. _What's with these yahoo's and vans? _Sam wondered. With a loud squeak of brakes, the large vehicle came to halt in front of a small hardware store nearby. There was a moment's pause and then the horned blared twice and both doors flung open. Sam couldn't get a good look at the two figures that emerged from the vehicle without getting too close. He couldn't risk exposure, especially since a sneaking suspicion told him that the two figures were demons. Who else held the reins around here?

On hands and knees, Sam made his way closer to the café, the vehicle and the figures that had emerged. He still could not see their features too clearly, but from what he saw both figures were male—around their late twenties, early thirties. And both men both shared the same intense crimson-red eyes. _They're possessed, _Sam thought, and instantly knew it was true. Although most demons had black eyes, Sam had seen some with scarlet, white, electric blues, and of course yellow eyes.

One of the red-eyed demons made their way toward the van. The horn blared once again. And the front door of the hardware store slammed open. A tall, dark skinned and bald man stepped out of the tiny shop, both hands in the air.

"All right, all right already," the bald man snapped. "Keep shirt on fellas."

One of the red-eyed demons scowled; apparently neither demon liked taking orders from humans too much, even if it had just been a sarcastic comment. Sam's brow began to crease. He wondered why the demons weren't attacking the man. Not that he wished for another human being to die, but the way these demons were treating this particular human had startled him. Sam watched as the man turned around and headed back inside the store.

When the man emerged from the small store, some five minutes later, he was not alone. He emerged immediately with six or more people; all looked around either or teens and some looked in their twenties. All people; males and females, were restrained with iron chains. Each were lined, and filed out the store one by one. Shackles were bound firmly around their ankles and bony wrists. One of the girls began to sob when the bald man handed her over to the demons. The demons smirked, and then one of them struck her hard in the face. She stopped crying immediately. Wholly disgusted, Sam watched as each of the six people made their way, almost prison style, into the van. With one last smirk, one of the red-eyed demons climbed into the car, while the other walked casually toward the bald man that had delivered them the people. Sam saw that the man began to shake slightly when he noticed the demon approaching.

"It's a fairly good turn out, right?" the man asked shakily.

The demon didn't respond, although it shoved a thick roll of money into the bald man's sweaty palm. "Better than last time, is all I can say," the demon replied gravely. The red-eyed demon returned to the front of the van, climbed in, and the vehicle rolled away.

For a moment the bald man just seemed to stare after the vehicle. Fear and relief crossed his dark features. He eventually left, money gripped firmly in his hands, and retreated to his own vehicle; a brand new convertible Mercedes parked just next to the hardware store; where Sam would have guessed another store would have once been located.

_Sick bastard, _Sam thought as he stared at the Mercedes. _He's cashing in on the whole thing. _"Son of a bitch," Sam muttered hotly. He withdrew from his hiding spot, and made his way briskly yet carefully toward the Mercedes. He was careful not to let himself be seen. He tucked himself in the alleyway on the other side of the hardware store. He tucked his head, and then slowly edged around the buildings near charred wall. Without a single pause Sam darted for the Mercedes. Still sprinting, he reached for the knife in his pocket and gingerly pulled it out. Sam darted across the back end of the polished burgundy Mercedes. He used his whole strength Sam to thrust open the vehicle's door. Without even glancing at the driver, he pressed the knife firmly against the man's throat.

"Forgive me, but I have to commandeer your vehicle," Sam ordered, with a flicker of a grin. The small smile faded when he caught sight of the man's face for the first time. His grin turned rapidly into a scowl and twitch of an eyebrow. "Oh my god," he whispered. "Gordon?"


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Once again thanks to all readers and reviewers. You keep me writing. My internet has been acting 'crazy' as of late; so it has been hard to even get on let alone update. I've finished two chapters, but I'll post them separately.

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**CHAPTER 14**

Sam's jaw immediately dropped. The last time he had seen Gordon had been almost one year ago. He had been a hunter, and had also believed that Sam had needed to die for the common good. Sam had disliked the man from the minute he had laid eyes on him. Though at first Dean had befriended the straight-talking hunter that had all changed when he had found out what a raving psychopath the man had really been. Sam's dislike toward Gordon had turned to loathing when the hunter had tried to kill him not once but twice. Sam wouldn't have been so surprised to see Gordon if it weren't for the fact that he had wasted him a year ago. But as far as the present was concerned he had changed things dramatically when traveling back in time; so it made some sense to him that Gordon would still be alive. Perhaps they had never caught up with him after all, because Gordon was certainly alive and as far as Sam could tell he was not a vampire. The hunter appeared tired and blood shot but he wasn't sporting the sallow complexion, beastly fangs and bloodlust.

Gordon stared at Sam. "What the…" he muttered. "Who the…" Gordon's eyes went wide, and just like Sam his jaw had dropped.

"What's the matter? It looks like you've seen a ghost," Sam scoffed.

"Oh Jesus. _You_." Gordon kept staring at Sam as if he _was_ a ghost, or perhaps more likely an alien of some kind as Sam hardly doubted that the hunter would be fearful of ghosts considering his profession. _Well past profession, _Sam corrected. From what he had just witnessed Gordon was no longer hunted demons, but now he worked for them. It confused and sickened Sam greatly. _Hypocrite, _he candidly thought.

"What do you want?"

Sam scowled. He pressed the knife firmer against Gordon's sweaty throat. He knew that Gordon felt unsettled; by the way the hunter's mocha eyes kept darting from Sam's stern features to the sharp knife that seemed to glisten in the dim sunlight. "I want to ask you a couple of questions," Sam replied.

Gordon let out a short laugh. "If you think I'm going to answer 'em than you've got another thing coming."

Sam gritted his teeth. He pressed the knife even harder against Gordon's throat, this time the knife's blade sliced into the first layer of flesh. Gordon cringed with pain; though Sam would not feel any sympathy. He couldn't after the hell Gordon had put Dean and him through over the past two years. He felt even irritated and disappointed that Gordon, in this present, was no longer dead. It had seriously disgusted Sam when he had seen the once-demon-hunter helping the demons—not out of fear, but for money. It turned his stomach significantly.

"I ain't scared of you," Gordon snapped, glaring at Sam. Gordon, perhaps now, was showing slightly more courage than he had done when Sam had first arrived. But Sam was not stupid; he knew whatever bravery the hunter was showing was only a mask. Gordon had always been afraid of him; of what he was, of what he might become.

"I think you are," Sam corrected. He pressed the knife harder. "I know you think that I won't kill you. But I will. Remember what you said, a couple of years back about how I'm evil, needed to die, and was a stone cold killer. Well perhaps you were right."

Gordon laughed. "Yeah right," he replied harshly. "No offense man, but you couldn't even kill a cockroach let alone another human being. You ain't a demon, or antichrist. I've seen demons, and things you couldn't even begin to imagine. I'm not scared of you; I've seen what true evil is."

Sam frowned. "I've seen things to: for intense you handing over innocent humans to demons for cash." He had not even bothered attempting to cover up the disgust and hatred in his tone of voice when he has said those last few words. "I'm going to ask you a few questions. You're going to answer them. If I think you're lying than I will slit your throat." "And no I'm not being sarcastic," Sam added.

Sam glared at the hunter fiercely. He wondered why the hunter was working with demons. Sure the world had changed; had gone to hell literally. But it confused him. Gordon Walker had once stated that he loved being a demon hunter as it did not allow any shades of grey. Even though he had tried to kill Sam, Gordon had sworn that he would never harm another human being. Sam had to wonder why Gordon had had such a sudden change in heart. Something must of have happened. He didn't want to asked, however, not because it was intrusive but because he needed other questions answered. As far as people went Gordon seemed the only sane one left—and that was saying something.

Gordon hesitated. He smiled, as if he had not taken Sam's threat too seriously. Perhaps he still thought of Sam as that young man that had once refused to kill any innocent human being. True, Sam was still a young man that did not believed in wasting a living creature that wasn't rightfully evil. But Gordon was a different matter. Just because the man was human didn't make him innocent. "Sammy," Gordon mocked. "Can you put the knife down? It's sort of making me itch, not to mention bleed."

Sam's nostrils flared. He glared at the hunter, his eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't mock me. And stop calling my Sammy." Using one of his bloody and bruised hands he struck Gordon hard in the maw. The hunter recoiled and then flinched fearfully. "That's better," Sam muttered. "You may think I'm lying when I say I'll kill you, but I promise you I'm not. I'll break you, do you understand?"

With slight hesitation Gordon nodded.

"Good." Sam removed the kitchen knife only to replace the blade with his fist. He firmly curled his hand around the hunter's throat. Gordon coughed, and then began to slightly choke. Sam did not release his hold. He to make sure that Gordon remained. He couldn't risk him taking off in his car as he knew very well that the hunter would just report back to his demon buddies. He needed Gordon alive as he needed answers, but after that the hunter would be of little use to him. Sam would have to kill him. He couldn't risk keeping him alive—he wouldn't.

Sam sighed. He didn't particularly like the idea of killing Gordon, but he didn't have much of a choice. "How much control do they have?"

"It's not just here. It's everywhere. I think there are still some places in Asia and Australia that haven't been overtaken, but mark my words that'll change soon."

Sam's eyes widened with astonishment. He knew the town had been taken over, clearly. He had figured that perhaps the rest of the country. But never had he imagined almost the entire population. Sam took in a few deep breaths before continuing. "How?"

"It started off small, and right after the devil's gate. See when all those demons were released I was expecting there to be a massive war, like end of world style. I would have proffered it there was one, because we would have been more prepared. But it was just small; a few disappearances and possessions here and there. People started acting strange; mainly politicians, the royal parliaments, and anyone else in any kind of 'real' power. The press kept reporting that these people were on drugs. Heck you even had a few nutcases that believed the world's leaders had been abducted and then replaced by alien clones. But we knew better."

"Demonic possession," Sam muttered.

Gordon nodded. "Spot on. Anyway eventually there were enough of them to take over a few towns here and there, then the whole country, and then almost the entire world. Like I said some places aren't overrun but it's only a matter of time."

Sam felt a chill creep up his spine. Knowing that the world was no over-run by demons caused his skin to crawl. He was certain that every other human on the planet felt the same. However unlike them Sam knew that the society going to hell was entirely his fault. If it weren't for his wanting his brother alive, meddling with time despite being warned—by a demon no less—not to, the world would be a better place. People were suffering, dying, and tortured every second, and all because of him. Sam's mouth felt very dry all of a sudden.

"So all of this happened within the space of one year?" Sam asked, astonished.

"Where the heck have you been!?" Gordon exclaimed. "We've been living in hell now for three years, going on four."

Sam's eyes widened. "What?" his jaw, once again, hung open. "How is that even possible? The spell was meant to return me to the present date; not three almost four years into the future."

Gordon's brow furrowed. "Huh?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he mumbled. Perhaps the spell had gone wrong, because Frank had clearly stated that he would return to the present. Even if there had been a glitch nothing would have changed much. In fact Sam thought it would have been worse because he would have had to watch the world crumble into demonic hands. Sam felt a rush of fury pass through him. He had been hunting demons for the majority of his life. He had known they were poison, but never had he realized how truly sick and evil the little bastards really were. If he had thought he had hated them before it was nothing compared to the way he felt now.

It was dark now; the sun had completely set and in its place was a feeble glow from the half hidden moon above. "How many are there?" Sam asked hurriedly. He was running out of time. He needed to find somewhere hidden, and relatively safe to spend the night. He felt uneasy roaming around the streets at night when demons were in control. Sam briskly glanced at Gordon who looked even more panicked than before.

"Not a clue," Gordon answered. "But there was enough to take over the freakin' world, so you tell me?" The hunter shifted uneasily. In the past hour his eyes had not met Sam's once. Perhaps he was nervous, even scared of the young man. But Sam knew that there was something the hunter was trying to keep from him—and he wanted to know what it was.

"My brother. Bobby, Ellen and the rest. What happened to them?"

"From what I saw last your brother and that hunter are still alive. Not quite sure where they hold up, but I know they're trying to bring down the demons, also other hunters are helping them out. Personally I wouldn't bother if I were them. As for Ellen I haven't seen her in years."

Sam scowled. "Well you're not them," he replied bitterly. Even though Dean had threatened to kill him, Sam was proud that his brother for not giving up—on the world anyway. He kept on fighting, and that was the Dean that Sam had always admired and looked up to. "At least they're trying to do something. You; you seem to be settled with the idea of demon supremacy. Hell you're even cashing in on the whole thing."

Gordon sighed. Despite the accusation the hunter seemed rather calm about the idea. "It's either me or them," he shrugged. "It's not just me anyway. Trust me this world isn't perfect, but it's not like it was before. At first I started fighting, but then I learned something."

Sam gritted his teeth. "And what's that?" he asked heatedly.

"I learned that we're overruled. They're stronger, faster and cleverer than us. Even if they weren't in charge any more they'd still be out there. Evil will always exist, whether we like it or not. Me I was naive before; I thought that one day if we killed and exorcised enough the population of evil would eventually decrease. But I was wrong, you and you're brother were wrong, and every other damn hunter out there."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. He could not believe how casual Gordon seemed about the whole thing. No matter what he had just said, the smile on the hunters face told Sam that he was enjoying himself. Sam's throat and stomach convulsed. _Sick bastard, _he thought angrily.

"I sided with the demons, and I have no regrets. I live a good life now. I get paid it deliver a few stupid young folk once a week and it's darn easy. Like I said before it's either my life or theirs."

The sound of a car approaching caused Sam to jump. He took a few steps back, releasing his grip on Gordon. Alarmed, Sam turned around in time to see a grey van speeding toward them. Its brakes squealed as it came to a sudden halt, blocking the way in front of them. Sam cursed under his breath. There was no way of escaping; everywhere was blocked. He briskly glanced over his shoulder at Gordon who had a broad grin plastered on his face.

"You son of a bitch," Sam snapped. Furious, he elbowed Gordon's side, and then punched him in the side of the head. The hunter automatically fell to the cement ground, unconscious. Still not satisfied, Sam struck him once more, this time his foot made heavy contact with the hunter's mid section. Sam thought he had heard a soft grunt come from Gordon, but he decided to ignore it. Ahead of him, two men and one woman emerged from the van. Despite the darkness their gleaming black eyes stood out from a distance. _Bloody demons_, Sam irritably thought.

One of the demons, a young man not much older than him with pale skin and black hair, stepped forward. It smiled wickedly; flashing a set of gleaming white teeth. "Looks like you're pals have deserted you. Too bad 'cause the boss changed his mind; he wants you dead after all."


	15. Chapter 15

A/N:After a brief hiatus I am back with a new, and hopefully exciting, chapter. It took me awhile to write this one; not only is it _long_, but it was important that I sum up most of the questions that have been left hanging since the beginning of this fic. Hopefully the answers will be clear. I've done a recap; some of it you will remember (for those of you who have seen the last few scenes 'All Hell Breaks Loose Pt 2'), and a lot of it will be new to everyone—as I had to twist Kripke's original idea and make it so that the happenings of my story can be. I wanted this story to be up three days ago, but it just wouldn't happen. I knew I could not rush this one, not like I rush the others, but it had to be just right. I'm pleased with the result and I hope you will be too.

Well, I hope that all made sense. Enjoy! I can't wait to read the reviews for this chapter, as it is by far my favorite yet. Dean fans won't be disappointed…

I also have a new Supernatural story posted ('Piece of Me'), for anyone who is interested in reading it.

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**CHAPTER 15**

At dusk that day, the darkness had spread very quickly, traveling across the gloomy sky, slipping through the blood stained streets and avenues of the city. Dean had noticed that over the last three years the darkness seemed to have risen earlier than it once had, almost as if it knew, somehow, what kind of place the world have become. The world was not hell, though held a close second. Three years ago, when Azazel's army had escaped from gates to hell themselves; the world had almost literally been torn apart. This world was not worth living in anymore; it was prison, it was death.

Some days, when the sun came up early in the morning and shun brightly through the curtains, Dean would close his eyes and while feeling the sun's heated rays on his bare skin he would imagine the world has it had been—as it should be. Dean often dreamed of himself lying on the beach and watching the sun as it slowly disappeared below the horizon. Before, three years ago, he had taken life for granted. Its beauty he had never once appreciated, until it had been stripped away. The laughter of innocent children had once been enough to make him want to cringe on some days, but now he would give anything to hear so much as a chuckle for anyone anymore. In all his years of demon hunting he had never been to hell, until now.

Dean sat crossed legged on the moldy tiled floor of an abandoned hospital; the same hospital he remembered being taken to when his heart had almost given out. Sam had saved his life by taking him to a faith healer, and in return Dean had silently promised that one day he would return the favor. But he never had. Before Dean had had a chance to live up to his promise they had taken Sam away from him—just like they had taken everything else away. The only thing that remained from Dean's old life was the Impala, but Dean did not care for it as much as he once had. The vehicle was tainted with memories of his younger brother. The only reason he had kept onto the thing was because he had hoped that one day Sam would return and, somehow, the world would go back to the way it had been. Now, Dean knew he had been a fool. Sam was dead, and even if there was the slightest chance that he had survived or escaped the world would never be the same.

Even though he hated thinking about it, his mind kept wondering back to earlier that evening; when Dean had seen his younger brother for the first time in over three years. At first he had been pissed; under the impression that Sam was nothing more than another one of the-bitch-from-hell, who also went by the name of Ivy these days, sour attempt at either a joke or another plan at trying to mess with his mind. He had been angry and had spoken some truly awful words; which now he deeply regretted. Deep down Dean knew that that been no illusion, he knew it had been Sam, but most part of him could not accept it and that's why he had ran—just three years ago.

Dean closed his eyes, sighed, and took in several deep breaths of the musty air that surrounded him. That night haunted his memories, his nightmares. And even though he wanted to forget about it completely the events of that night still kept re-playing in his mind. It was as if he was in a darkened theatre, alone and strapped to a chair. His eyes burned, though still he was forced to watch the one scene, as it played over and over and over and over again. It would not stop. Tears began to flood his eyes. And the memories of that never-forgotten night had clawed its way back inside his mind…

_Showtime._

**Wyoming, three and a half years ago…**

_Moonlight began streaming from the between the clamps of moisture-heavy clouds high above him. Moonlight glides across the century year old cowboy cemetery below, creating an eerie glow on the large and rotted tombstones and crumbling mausoleums. Despite the building of tension surrounding them, Dean can not help but feel slightly secure—knowing that the enemy could not enter the cemetery, due to the iron railroad tracks that when connected and makes a gigantic devil's trap, makes him feel safe. But he knows it's only a matter of time before the warm sense of security faded away and the unpleasant dread and torment takes its place._

_He waits for Jake, hiding behind a large and overgrown headstone. His fingers are coiled around the pearl handle of his favored gun. He does not want to kill the human Jake, though if they can not reach him in time he sees no other choice. Only for a second, Dean tears his eyes away from the mausoleum ahead and toward his younger brother. Sam did not look back, though Dean can sense that Sam knows he was looking his way. Dean eventually tears his eyes away, while trying desperately not to cry. The last time he has seen Jake was when the young soldier from Afghanistan had held a knife to his brother's throat. Dean can not forget madness that had haunted the soldier's eyes._

He could die tonight, _Dean thinks while thinking about Sam once more. He shakes his head firmly. _No, _he tells himself. No one—not Bobby, Ellen, Sam or even himself—was going to die…not tonight, not for years to come._

_His eyes catch a glimpse of Bobby and Ellen; both crouching behind a crumbling headstone. Ellen looks over her should. Her mouth remains in thinned and straight, though Dean can tell that she is smiling. Bobby, however, has his eyes transfixed ahead. The hunter's expression is solemn. Dean knows that Bobby knows more than what he was letting on, because, unlike the other three, he is looking anxious and terrified. Though not to Bobby's extent, Sam looked nervous. _Perhaps it's seeing Jake again, _Dean wonders. _He knows he will have to kill him…eventually.

_Dean had tried to convince his brother that Jake needed to be killed, but Sam still had not listened. Dean sighs. He knows all to well that that was how Sam was; the poor kid wanted to trust everyone—which wasn't essentially a negative thing, although one day Sam will learn that some people, human or not, cannot be trusted. _

_The loud sound of footsteps causes Dean's heart beat to enhance. He glances toward Ellen, Bobby and finally to Sam; who each possess identical vexed expressions on their features. Dean feels his palms are drenched in cold sweat. His eyes trail in the direction of the footsteps. As they come closer, his hold on the gun becomes harsher._

_Dean darts behind another tombstone. His eyes never leave the young man who had just passed him; Jake. Dean keeps the gun's hand pressed against his chest, and holds its pearl handle with both hands. _

"_Howdy, Jake." Sam emerges from his hiding place and steadily walks toward Jake; his hands have a firm grip around a handgun. He glares at Jake loathsomely. Bobby, Ellen, and eventually Dean begin to circle around Jake—all pointing guns in the young solder's direction. Jake looks nervously around. His dark brown eyes had widened, and were glances from one gun to the other. His hands begin to tremble, yet his dark features remain grave. _

"_Oh, it's you," Jake says to Sam. He throws the young man a filthy look. "Why didn't you kill me, anyway? You had the perfect chance when I was down."_

_Sam shrugs, though still has the gun pointed direction at Jake's forehead. "I don't know. I guess I have a soft spot when it comes to wasting defenseless animals."_

_Dean looks in Sam's direction. Only hours ago he had been wondering the same thing; why hadn't Sam killed Jake when he had had the opportunity. When Sam had replied that he simply couldn't Dean had believed him, until the guy had started acting rather weird during the car ride to the cemetery. Perhaps it was the vision that his brother had had, but Dean has the nagging feeling that it is something else. _

"_Yeah?" Jake seems rather offended by Sam's response. The solder begins eyeing Sam suspiciously. "I don't believe you," he snaps. "I don't know why you didn't kill me, but I sure as hell know whatever intention you had hadn't been good." "Anyway in their right mind wouldn't slit my throat after what you saw happened to Andy and the rest."_

_Sam frowns. "I don't doubt you're bad news. But I don't want to kill you…"_

"_Liar!" Jake spits. "You had a reason, and still do. That man, the one with the yellow eyes, he told what's what, and what I have to do."_

"_And you believed him?" Sam and Dean both roll their eyes. They both know better than to trust demons, as does Bobby and Ellen._

"_Just take it real easy there, son," Bobby warns. He keeps his gun aimed for Jake's jugular—which wouldn't kill him, but would certainly hurt like hell. _

_Jake's eyes flash dangerously. "And if I don't?"_

"_Wait and see," Sam injected._

_Jake's brows furrow. He tears his eyes away from Bobby and concentrates on Sam. "What, you a tough guy all of a sudden?" "What are you gonna do?" "Kill me?"_

_The corners of Sam's mouth twist into a painful smile. "It's a thought." _

_Jake laughs softly. "You had your chance, you couldn't."_

_Sam keeps the gun ready; his right index finger never leaves the trigger. "I won't make that mistake twice." _

_Jake pulls his features into a broad grin, and begins laughing cruelly at Sam's remark. _

_Dean raises an eyebrow. "What are you smiling at, you little bitch?" he asks dryly. Dean is beginning to get bored with the long and very boring conversation. He knows that something is brewing, and he wants it to begin already because he is through with waiting._

_Jake doesn't look hurt by Dean's comment. He glances at Dean for a few seconds before tearing his eyes away to focus on Ellen. "Hey, lady." Ellen glances in Dean's direction. Dean can tell that that she is nervous by the way she had just widened her eyes. He hopes that she doesn't allow that fear to appear on her outer features, otherwise Jake would know. "Do me a favor." Jake's eyes flash a deep shade of crimson. "Point that gun to your head."_

_Ellen twitches for a few seconds and then does exactly what she is told. She lowers her gun away from Jake, and presses the firing end to her own temple instead. _

_With one fleeting look, Dean stares uneasily at Ellen. When he eventually diverts his attention away he throws Jake a bitter expression. He's seen this kind of thing before; mind control. Less than a year ago Dean and Sam had met up with a young man called Webber who, they found, had been using mind control to force innocent people into committing suicide. Dean scowls at Jake, and then warns the solder that he better stop what he is doing otherwise he'll kill him. Jake does not listen. The solder keeps grinning obnoxiously, and Dean can not wait until he can finally beat that smart-ass look out of the guy. He would have to restrain himself for now, however, because any swift movement could cause Jake to force Ellen to pull the trigger on herself. And then it comes…BANG!_

_Dean's eyes begin to swell with tears. "Ellen," he whispers, watching as the woman's body begins to steadily fall lifelessly to the floor. "No. Ellen. Damnit." __He watches_ _helplessly; trailing his eyes from Ellen's wide and terrified eyes, to the bleeding bullet hole in the side of her skull, and then finally to the victorious expression that was etched into Jake's features. _

"_Bastard!" Dean snarls._

_Jake ignores him, and instead retreats to the aged mausoleum the solder had been eying before. Jake pulls the colt forwards, and places it—like a key—into a small lot. Slowly and nosily, the door begins to open—almost like a gate. _

"_The Devil's Gate," Dean murmurs. He remembers what Sam had told him earlier that evening: _"…I saw a gate opening in the cemetery and _a lot _of demons escaping from hell. You need to close it before too many get out."

_Pushing Sam's outstretched arm out of the way, and ignoring Bobby's shouts of protest, Dean makes his way swiftly toward Jake. Nothing but hatred wad filling his insides. Dean pulls the handgun from his jacket pocket. Ellen may be dead, but that did not mean that he could not seek vengeance on the deceased woman's murderer. Dean screws his face up in concentration. He aims, and then fires the trigger._

* * *

"Are you alright?"

Dean's eyes snapped open. The grave sound of Bobby's voice had startled Dean. He gave Bobby a brisk nod of the head motion. Dean shivered. Remembering Ellen's death, and how he had failed her completely, had brought a flood of tears to his eyes. Only now, had Dean realized that he was lying on the sodden ground. He tried to pull himself, holding the wall for support, so that he could settle himself into an upright seating position. But for some reason his wrists began to buckle. For some reason every bone and every muscle in his body seemed brittle, even broken. Even the slightest twitch of an index finger would cause his entire body to, almost, moan in protest. So he lay there, face down on the ground. Dean began to slowly close his tear stained eyes. The memories kept coming; he had remembered failing Ellen, and now he would remember that same night and the moment he had failed his younger brother…

_Dean stares, wide-eyed, from Ellen to Jake's lifeless bodies. He drops the gun, diverts his eyes away from the bloody corpses and then watches as the weapon falls worthlessly to the dirt ground._

"_We have to take cover," Bobby shouts, he makes his way toward one of the large headstones all four—now three of them—had been hiding behind before. _

"_Why?" Sam asks. He looks nervously at Dean. Dean knows the death of Jake had not saddened him, but startled him. _He's scared of me, _Dean knows. _He's scared of his own brother. _And in that, Dean knows he's right. It was not only Sam that was scared, or Bobby, but Dean had frightened himself. He had shot someone—a person, a human being. He had not listened to reason, just the anger that had bubbled away inside of him. Dean hated himself from what he had done, but he knows that was no way to take it back. Even if he can turn back time—even though there was no proof it could be done—he is not even sure he will not shoot Jake again. That was what scared him the most._

"_What is it?" Dean asks Bobby. He glances toward the gate that Jake had opened—which was now fully open and revealed what looks like a fiery pit; _Hell.

"_It's hell," Bobby replies. He clings tightly onto one of the crumbling headstones, and urges Sam and Dean to do the same. _

_All three of the surviving hunters kept a firm grip on each of their chosen tombstones. Each held on with dear life. This reminds Dean of that scene in Twister where that blonde chick, Helen Hunt…or something, and that guy who Dean can never remember the name of had clung onto that rickety bridge so that neither of them would get torn to pieces by a larger than life tornado. Dean shudders. He would hate to be in that situation, though he reminds himself that right now they kind were—just substitute a twister for a Devil's gate. _

"_What is that thing?" asks Sam. He does not tear his eyes from the gate; which Dean has to admit is difficult considering the cemetery was near covered in black and thick cloud—demon souls. _

"_A Devil's Gate," Dean breaths. He doesn't know exactly what it is, or what it is that it does, but he knows the name. Sam stares at him utterly perplexed. Dean shrugs. _

"_It's a damn gate to hell," Bobby explains. "And how the heck did you know that?" he asks Dean who is looking nervously from Sam to Bobby._

_Again, Dean shrugs. "Who knows? Read it somewhere." "Does it really matter?" "We have to close it." _

_Bobby frowns. "In this kind of situation the most common phrase that is used is 'Well, Duh'" _

"_We have to close it, that's a given. But with what?" Sam adds, he looks hopefully at Bobby for the answers. Dean feels slightly grated by this, though he keeps his mouth shut and facial features grim. _

"_The colt." Dean scrambles forward, outstretches his hands, and coils his blood and mud stained fingers around the colt's aged wooden handle. "The demon gave this to Jake," he mutters. "Than that means…" He trails off when he gets the sudden and eerie sensation that someone—or more likely some_thing_—was watching him. Someone was standing behind him. _

_Dean slowly turns around, the colt is gripped firmly in both hands. He feels a sense of shock rush through him when his hazel green eyes meet up with a pair of bright yellow. "You," Dean rasps. He aims the colt for the demon's forehead. His facial features, of the middle-aged man the demon was possessing, pulls into an expression of malice._

_The demon smirks. "Boys shouldn't play with daddies guns," he replies dryly. Before Dean had the chance to reply, the demon flings Dean, Sam and Bobby in mid air and away from the gate._

_Dean grunts even before his spine makes contact with the firm earth ground. He feels hatred course through his veins like hot blood. Dean did not even have to look at Sam to know that he felt the same way. The Yellow-Eyed-Demon had killed their mother, their father and had destroyed everything and everyone else that had ever meant anything to them. Dean had killed a lot of demons, yet he had never hated one before—not until he had come face to face with Yellow Eyes anyway. _

"_Ah, now this is the way it was meant to be." The demon smirks, and then glances at Sam with a glint of pride in his vivid yellow eyes. _

_Dean's brow creases. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asks, though his tone had sounded more hoarse than bitter. "What do you mean this is the way it was meant to be?" he echoes after the demon had not answered his first question._

_The demon continued sneering. It glances away from Sam to concentrate on Dean. It stares loathsomely at the older Winchester. "Does it really matter?" With one swift movement of its head Dean was sent crashing into a nearby headstone. _

_The older Winchester cursed under his breath. All the air has seemed to of escaped from his lungs. He nurses his agonizing ribs, running his hands along his side gingerly. "You son of a bitch!" he roars. Dean's eyes flash dangerously. "I'll kill you. I swear to god." "If you even so much as lay a single hand on my brother I'll kill you."_

"_That's a bit hard, isn't it?" the demon sneers. "You don't have the colt." It tosses its head toward the ground nearby it where Dean had dropped the colt when he had been flown across the air for the second time that night. "And without that, you're as good as dead."_

_Dean nervously bites his lower lip. He knows the demon is right, though it wasn't as if he would ever admit it aloud. Even though he had not said anything, Dean has the sneaking suspicion that the Yellow-Eyed-Demon can read minds by the way it had just grinned wickedly at him then. The demon says nothing, however, and diverts his attention back to Sam. It smiles; still cold, yet less bitterly than it had done with Dean. _It's because I wasted his children—Meg, and that guy in the alley, _Dean knows. Never less he did not mind. Meg, a petite young woman with short blonde hair who had a fetish for slicing people's throats open, had deserved to die—well, he had only exorcised her, but to demons that was just as bad as being killed…perhaps worse. _

_The demon grins proudly. "I knew I kept you alive for a reason, Sammy," he says happily, and then looks at Jake's motionless body lying nearby. "I knew you had it in, chap."_

"_I wouldn't go breaking out the champagne yet," Dean snaps. "Sammy didn't kill Jake, I did."_

_The demon scowls. He throws Dean a filthy expression. "Do you think I'm idiot? No…wait…you better not answer that one." _

"_Damn straight." Dean smirks. _

_The demon moves steadily toward Dean who is still pressed firmly against the headstone by whatever power the demon was still using on him. "If it weren't for the fact that I am a demon and have neither heart nor soul, I would find it somewhat touching how much you convince yourself day in and day out that your little brother is such a saint. But I don't. You have no idea what Sam is capable of, heck neither does he. Of course if things would have played out differently than you both would have known."_

_Dean frowns. He has no idea what the demon was talking about, however he knows it knows something that he doesn't—and every part of him knew that it couldn't be any good. "What do you mean by that? If things would have played out differently," Dean echoes. _

"_I wouldn't expect you to understand, what with that pea size brain of yours and all." With one swift jerk of his head, the demon did something that surprised the three hunters; he slams the devil's gate shut. The door slammed with such force that it shook the ground. Dean cringes, though his mood instantly lifts when he feels the sensation of the demon's power wear off on him. He clenches his fist; just to make certain that he truly had both his strength and movement back._

_The demon's back is turned, and taking advantage of the situation Dean springs forward to where the colt is lying uselessly. It was a rash move, but Dean had figured it was a lot better than sitting around all night waiting for the demon to tear their insides out one by one. Though perhaps it would keep Sam, because whatever bizarre plan it had he knew it involved his younger brother. He tightens his fingers around the colt, cocks the gun and then aims for the back of the demon's skull._

_Clearly aware of what Dean had done, the demon spins around. Its yellow eyes glare angrily at him. "You think you'll be able to stop me with only one bullet?"_

"_It's worth a shot." Dean shrugs. He aims for the demon's heart, though by the time his finger had pressed down on the trigger the demon had darted out of the way, instead of piercing the bullet through its heart the bullet had merely grazed his leg. It scowled, never less. "You'll pay for that one," it snaps, and without warning runs for Sam. Before Dean has the chance to scramble forward, the demon has already vanished in mid-air—Sam along with it. _

"_Son of a bitch!" Dean roars. Ignoring the sharp pains that run through his entire body, he sprints forward. "Sam?" "SAM?" "SAMMY!" Tears gush from Dean's watery eyes, and steadily fall down his cheeks. He stares out into the night. _

Sam was gone.

* * *

**A/N: **For those of you from either Australia or New Zealand "Happy ANZAC Day!" I know it's not a cause for celebration, but I guess the loss of the hero in this chapter could symbolize the loss of the Anzac's…I don't know, it seems fitting enough. Anyway, to everyone, enjoy your day or night and hope you enjoyed this uber _long _chapter.

P.S: Before anyone says anything Sam's not dead, just a flashback (hence the _italics_.)


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